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THE 


REESE   LIBRARY 


t_-n_n.^^ 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA.    \ 

^eceiveJ.        MAR  16  1893 ,^^ 

(Accessions  No.  ^Ob^o 


Class  No..^.'^..^X 


J 


THE     SISTERS 

A  TRAGEDY 


THE     SISTERS 


(§r  €xiXQ^l'^ 


BY 


ALGERNON   CHARLES  SWINBURNE 


^  or    THE 

UNIVERSITY 


NEW  YORK 

UNITED   STATES   BOOK   COMPANY 

5  AND  7    East   Sixteenth    Street 

Chicago  :  266  &  268  Wabash  Ave. 


Copyright,  1892, 


BY 

ALGERNON  CHARLES   SWINBURNE. 


TRO*   DIHECTORY 

PRINTING  AND   BOOKBINDING  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK 


r. 


TO   THE 

Hatig  IHarg  ffiortron 

THIS   PLAY   IS  GRATEFULLY   INSCRIBED 

BY  HER  AFFECTIONATE 

NEPHEW. 


DEDICATION. 


Between  the  sea-cliffs  and  the  sea-shore  sleeps 

A  garden  walled  about  with  woodland,  fair 
As  dreams  that  die  or  days  that  memory  keeps 

Alive  in  holier  light  and  lovelier  air 

Than  clothed  them  round  long  since  and  blessed  them  there 
With  less  benignant  blessing,  set  less  fast 
For  seal  on  spirit  and  sense,  than  time  has  cast 
For  all  time  on  the  dead  and  deathless  past. 


Beneath  the  trellised  flowers  the  flowers  that  shine 
And  lighten  all  the  lustrous  length  of  way 

From  terrace  up  to  terrace  bear  me  sign 

And  keep  me  record  how  no  word  could  say 
What  perfect  pleasure  of  how  pure  a  day 

A  child's  remembrance  or  a  child's  delight 

Drank  deep  in  dreams  of,  or  in  present  sight 

Exulted  as  the  sunrise  in  its  might. 


THE   SISTERS. 

III. 

The  shadowed  lawns,  the  shadowing  pines,  the  ways 
That  wind  and  wander  through  a  world  of  flowers, 

The  radiant  orchard  where  the  glad  sun's  gaze 
Dwells,  and  makes  most  of  all  his  happiest  hours. 
The  field  that  laughs  beneath  the  cliff  that  towers, 

The  splendor  of  the  slumber  that  enthralls 

With  sunbright  peace  the  world  within  their  walls, 

Are  symbols  yet  of  years  that  love  recalls. 

IV. 

But  scarce  the  sovereign  symbol  of  the  sea, 
That  clasps  about  the  loveliest  land  alive 
With  loveliness  more  wonderful,  may  be 

Fit  sign  to  show  what  radiant  dreams  survive 
Of  suns  that  set  not  with  the  years  that  drive 
Like  mists  before  the  blast  of  dawn,  but  still 
Through  clouds  and  gusts  of  change  that  chafe  and  chill 
Lift  up  the  light  that  mocks  their  wrathful  will. 

V. 

A  light  unshaken  of  the  wind  of  time. 

That  laughs  upon  the  thunder  and  the  threat 

Of  years  that  thicken  and  of  clouds  that  climb 
To  put  the  stars  out  that  they  see  not  set, 
And  bid  sweet  memory's  rapturous  faith  forget. 

But  not  the  lightning  shafts  of  change  can  slay 

The  life  of  light  that  dies  not  with  the  day, 

The  glad  live  past  that  cannot  pass  away. 


THE  SISTERS. 

VI. 

The  many  colored  joys  of  dawn  and  noon 

That  lit  with  love  a  child's  life  and  a  boy's, 
And  kept  a  man's  in  concord  and  in  tune 
With  lifelong  music  of  memorial  joys 
Where  thought  held  life  and  dream  in  equipoise, 
Even  now  make  child  and  boy  and  man  seem  one, 
And  days  that  dawned  beneath  the  last  year's  sun 
As  days  that  even  ere  childhood  died  were  done. 

VII. 

The  sun  to  sport  in  and  the  cliffs  to  scale, 

The  sea  to  clasp  and  wrestle  with,  till  breath 
For  rapture  more  than  weariness  would  fail, 
All-golden  gifts  of  dawn,  whose  record  saith 
That  time  nor  change  may  turn  their  life  to  death, 
Live  not  in  loving  thought  alone,  though  there 
The  life  they  live  be  lovelier  than  they  were 
When  clothed  in  present  light  and  actual  air. 

VIII. 

Sun,  moon,  and  stars  behold  the  land  and  sea 

No  less  than  ever  lovely,  bright  as  hope 
Could  hover,  or  as  happiness  can  be : 

Fair  as  of  old  the  lawns  to  seaward  slope. 
The  fields  to  seaward  slant  and  close  and  ope : 
But  where  of  old  from  strong  and  sleepless  wells 
The  exulting  fountains  fed  their  shapely  shells, 
Where  light  once  dwelt  in  water,  dust  now  dwells. 


10  THE  SISTERS. 

IX. 

The  springs  of  earth  may  slacken,  and  the  sun 
Find  no  more  laughing  lustre  to  relume 

Where  once  the  sunlight  and  the  spring  seemed  one ; 
But  not  on  heart  or  soul  may  time  or  doom 
Cast  aught  of  drought  or  lower  with  aught  of  gloom 

If  past  and  future,  hope  and  memory,  be 

Ringed  round  about  with  love,  fast  bound  and  free, 

As  all  the  world  is  girdled  with  the  sea. 


THE     SISTERS 

A   TRAGEDY 


PERSONS    REPRESENTED. 

Sir  Francis  Dilston. 

Sir  Arthur  Clavering. 

Frank  Dilston,  son  to  Sir  Francis. 

Reginald  Clavering,  cousm  to  Sir  Arthur. 

Anne  Dilston    \  twifi-sisters    and  coheiresses,   for- 

Mabel  Dilston  >       merly  ivards  of  Sir  Francis. 

Sccfie^  Clavering  Hall,  Northumberland. 
Ti77ie^  1816. 

CHARACTERS   IN   THE   INTERLUDE. 

Alvise  Vivarini,  represented  by  Reginald  Clavering. 
Galasso  Galassi,        "  "    Frank  Dilston. 

Beatrice  Signorelli,  "  "    Mabel  Dilston. 

Francesca  Mariani,  "  "    Anne  Dilston. 


UNIVEESITY 

ACT   I. 

Scene  I .  —  A  morn  i/!g  room . 
Anne  afid  Mabel. 

ANNE. 

April  again,  and  not  a  word  of  war. 

Last  year,  and  not  a  year  ago,  it  was 

That  we  sat  wondering  when  good  news  would  come, 

MABEL. 

And  had  not  heard  or  learnt  in  lesson-books 
If  such  a  place  there  was  as  Waterloo. 
And  never  dreamed  that  — 

ANNE. 

Well  ? 


MABEL. 

That  it  would  be 
So  soon  for  ever  such  a  name  for  us 
As  Blenheim  or  Trafalgar. 


l6  THE  SISTERS.  act  i. 

ANNE. 

No.     For  us? 
We  don't  remember  Blenheim  —  and  we  had 
No  cousin  wounded  at  Trafalgar.     Still, 
If  Redgie  had  been  'old  enough  to  serve  — 

MABEL. 

I  wish  he  had  chosen  the  navy. 


ANNE. 


And  come  home 


Unhurt? 


MABEL. 


No ;  I  forgot.     Of  course  he  might 
Have  died  like  Nelson  —  and  gone  home  with  him. 

ANNE. 

Home?     Reginald's  not  quite  so  tired  of  life, 

I  fancy,  though  he  frets  at  being  kept  in, 

As  to  look  up  —  outside  this  world  —  for  home. 

MABEL. 

No. 


SCENE  I.  THE   SISTERS,  IJ 

ANNE. 

Will  you  tell  me  —  but  you  will  not  —  me, 
Even  — 

MABEL. 

What?     Anything  I  can  I  will. 

ANNE. 

Perhaps  you  cannot  —  what  he  said  to  you 
Yesterday  ? 

MABEL. 

When? 

ANNE. 

You  will  not  now,  I  know. 

MABEL. 

Where? 

ANNE. 

When  and  where  ?     If  you  must  needs  be  told, 
At  nine  last  evening  in  the  library. 

MABEL. 

Nothing  —  but  what  I  meant  to  tell  you. 


1 8  THE  SISTERS.  act  i. 

ANNE. 

Yes? 
You  meant  to  tell  me  that  he  said,  my  dear, 
What? 

MABEL. 

Anne! 

ANNE. 

You  thought  I  knew? 

MABEL.  • 

I  thought  I  must 
Have  said  it  without  speaking. 

ANNE. 

Reginald! 
And  so  you  really  mean  to  love  the  boy 
You  played  with,  rode  with,  climbed  with,  laughed 

at,  made 
Your    tempter  —  and   your    scapegoat  —  when   you 

chose 
To  ride  forbidden  horses,  and  break  bounds 
On  days  forbidden  ?     Love !     Of  course  you  like  — 
And  then  how  can  you  love  him? 


SCENE  I.  THE  SISTERS.  19 

MABEL. 

Is  dislike 
Mother  of  love?  Then  you  — to  judge  by  signs  — 
Must  love  Frank  Dilston  dearly. 

ANNE. 

So  I  might, 
If  —  if  I  did  not  hate  him. 

MABEL. 

Then  you  do. 
I'm  glad.      I  always  liked  him. 

ANNE. 

What  has  he 
Done,  that  a  woman  —  or  a  girl  —  should  like 
Him? 

MABEL. 

Need  a  man  —  or  boy  —  do  anything 
More  than  be  true  and  bright  and  kind  and  brave 
And  tr}'  to  make  you  like  him? 


20  THE  SISTERS.  act  i. 

ANNE. 

That  spoils  all. 
He  should  not  try. 

MABEL. 

I'll  tell  him  not  to  Xxy. 
Enter  Reginald  Clavering  and  Frank  Dilston. 

ANNE. 

Redgie!     You've  not  been  riding? 

REGINALD. 

Have  I,  Frank? 

FRANK. 

You'd  have  me  tell  a  lie  to  get  you  off? 

ANNE. 

You  Stupid  pair  of  schoolboys!      Really,  Frank, 
You  should  not  let  him. 


SCENE   I. 


THE  SISTERS.  21 


FRANK, 


/can't  lick  him,  Anne; 
We  two  —  or  you  alone  —  might  manage. 

ANNE. 

Why, 
The   grooms   must  know  he  should  not   mount   a 

horse 
Yet. 

REGINALD. 

Would  you  have  me  never  ride  again 
Because  last  year  I  got  a  fall  ? 

ANNE. 

Appeal 
To  Mabel. 

REGINALD. 

She  was  always  hard  on  me. 

MABEL. 

Always. 


22  THE   SISTERS.  act  i. 

ANNE. 

You  mean  that  I  encouraged  you 
To  risk  your  neck  when  we  were  girl  and  boy? 
Make  him  sit  down,  Frank. 

REGINALD. 

There.      And  now  we'll  talk 
Of  something  —  not  of  nothing. 


ANNE. 


Of  your  play? 


REGINALD. 

That's  ready.      How  about  your  stage? 

ANNE. 

Indeed? 

REGINALD. 

It's  just  one  little  act,  you  know  — 
Enough  for  four  and  not  too  much,  I  hope, 
To  get  by  heart  in  half  a  pair  of  days. 


But  is  it 


SCENE  I.  THE  SISTERS.  23 

ANNE. 

In  one  day?     No:  I  am  slow  at  learning  verse  — 
Even  if  my  part  were  shorter  than  the  rest. 

REGINALD. 

It  is. 

ANNE. 

Ah!     Thank  you. 

FRANK. 

Mabel's  I  have  read. 
It's  longer. 

MABEL. 

As  the  whole  affair  is  short, 
It  cannot  be  much  longer.      You  should  rest, 
Redgie.     Come  out  and  feed  the  pheasants,  Anne. 

\Exeiint  Anne  and  Mabel. 

REGINALD. 

How  like  old  times  it  is,  when  we  came  back 
From  Eton !     You  remember,  Frank,  we  played 
—  What  was  it?  —  once. 


24  THE  SISTERS.  act  i. 


FRANK. 


"What  was  it?  "     There's  no  such  play. 

There's    "What   you   will":    perhaps   we    played 

"Twelfth  Night " 
In  frocks  and  jackets.     Might  we  now  not  play 
"Love's  Labour's  Lost".? 


REGINALD. 


"A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream  " 
I  know,  because  I  played  Lysander  —  you 
Demetrius. 


FRANK. 


How  the  female  parts  were  cast 
You  don't  remember.? 


REGINALD. 


Helena  was  Anne, 
I  think,  and  Hermia  Mabel. 


FRANK. 

Change  the  names. 


SCENE  1.  THE  SISTERS.  25 

REGINALD. 

Ah,  yes.      All  friends  from  more  than  twelve  miles 

round 
Came   in   to  our  Yuletide  gathering   through    the 

snows. 
How  quick  and  bright  Anne's  acting  was!  you  two 
Bore  off  the  palms  all  round :  Mabel  and  I 
Were  somewhere  short  of  nowhere. 

FRANK. 

Will  you  now 
Retaliate?     She  and  you  were  plotting  this, 
Must  we  suppose,  last  evening? 

REGINALD. 

She  and  I, 
Frank?     We  should  make  but  poor  conspirators. 

FRANK. 

I  hope  so,  and  I  think  so.      Seriously, 
May  not  I  ask  —  ? 

REGINALD. 

If  she  and  I  are  friends? 
Surely  a  man  may  ask  and  answer  that, 


26  THE  SISTERS. 


ACT   I. 


If  —  as  you  do  —  he  knows  it.      If  you  mean 
More  —  I  would  hardly  tell  a  brother  this, 
Who  had  not  been  so  close  a  friend  of  mine 
Always,  and  had  no  right  to  ask  me  this  — 
No. 

FRANK. 

Then  she  does  not  think  —  she  has  no  cause  — 
She  cannot  think  you  love  her? 

REGINALD. 

Can  I  tell? 
But  this  I  can  tell  —  she  shall  never  come 
To  think  or  dream  I  do,  and  vex  herself. 
By  any  base  and  foolish  fault  of  mine. 

FRANK. 

But  if  she  loves  you,  Redgie? 

REGINALD. 

No,  my  boy. 
She  does  not.      Come,  we  need  not  talk  of  that. 

I  think  mock-modesty  a  mincing  lie  — 

The  dirtiest  form  of  self-conceit  that  is, 

Quite,  and  in  either  sense  the  vainest.     You 

She  may  not  love  just  yet  —  but  me,  I  know, 


SCENE  I.  THE   SISTERS.  2/ 

She  never  will.      I  ought  to  say  "Thank  God," 

Being  poor,  and  knowing  myself  unworthy  her 

—  A  younger  son's  son,  with  a  closed  career 

Should  peace  prove  now  as  stable  as  it  looks  — 

If  I  on  my  side  loved  her  as  I  should 

And  if  I  knew  she  would  be,  as  I  fear  — 

Xo,  hope  she  will,  happier  with  you  than  me. 

I  can't  do  that,  quite;    if  I  could,  and  did, 

I  should  be  just  a  little  less  unfit 

To  dream  that  she  could  love  me  —  which  I  don't. 

FRANK. 

You  don't  mean  that  you  want  me  — 

REGINALD. 

I  do  mean 
I  want  her  to  be  happy :    as  for  you. 
If  I  don't  want  you  to  be  miserable 
It  only  shows  I  ani  not  quite  a  cur. 

FRANK. 

You  never  were:   but  if  you  meant  me  well. 
What  made  you  go  campaigning  and  come  back 
A  hero.' 


28  '  THE   SISTERS. 


ACT   I. 


REGINALD. 


Six  months'  service!     Don't  you  be 
A  fool  —  or  flatterer. 


FRANK. 


Still,  you  have  (worse  luck!) 
Such  heavy  odds  —  a  wound,  and  Waterloo ! 


REGINALD. 

If  I  —  or  you  —  had  lost  an  eye  or  arm, 
That  wouldn't  make  us  Nelsons. 

FRANK. 

Something  like, 

REGINALD. 

Well,  you  can  do  that  in  the  hunting-field. 

FRANK. 

I  wish  I  had  you  in  the  playing-fields 
Again. 

REGINALD. 

We  can't  just  settle  it  with  fists. 
But,  if  you  asked  me,  as  of  course  vou  don't 


SCENE  I.  THE  SISTERS.  29 

And  won't,  what  she  and  I  were  talking  of 
Last  evening,  I  could  tell  you  —  and  I  will. 
I  asked  her  if  she  thought  it  possible 
That  two  such  baby  friends  and  plaj^ellows 
As  she  and  Anne  had  been  with  you  and  me 
Could,  when  grown  up,  be  serious  lovers. 

FRANK. 

Well  — 
Was   that   not    making    love  to  her?     And  what 
Did  she  say? 

REGINALD. 

Hardly.     Xo.     Certainly  not. 

FRANK. 

And  then? 

REGINALD. 

The  bell  rang,  and  we  went  to  dress 
For  dinner. 

FRANK. 

What  did  she  say  —  if  she  did  — 
To  make  vou  ask  her  that  ? 


30  THE   SISTERS.  act  i. 

REGINALD. 

Something  she  did  — 
At  least,  I  thought  so  —  like  a  fool.      And  now 
We'll  talk  no  more  about  it.      Mind  you,  Frank, 
I  didn't  —  could  I  possibly? — forget 
That  just  because  I  love  her  —  more  than  you 
I  won't  say  —  she  must  never  dream  I  do 
If  I  can  help  it. 

FRANK. 

Then,  in  heaven's  name,  why 
Say  what  you  say  you  did  ? 

REGINALD. 

Don't  fret  yourself. 
Xo  harm  was  meant  or  done.      But  if  she  does 
Love  you —  if  you  can  win  her  —  as  I  think 
(There!)  — you're  the  happiest  fellow  ever  born. 

FRANK. 

And  you're  the  best,  Redgie.      By  Jove!  she  ought 
To  love  you,  if  she  knew  how  you  love  her. 


SCENE  I.  THE  SISTERS.  3  ^ 

REGINALD. 

And  that,  please  God,  she  never  will.      When  you 
And  she  are  married,  if  you  tell  her  so, 
You'll  play  the  traitor,  not  to  me  but  her  — 
Make  her  unhappy  for  the  minute.      Don't. 
She  would  be  sorrier  than  I'm  worth,  you  know. 
To  think  of  any  sorrow  not  her  own 
And  given  by  her  unconsciously.      She  had 
Always  the  sweetest  heart  a  girl  could  have. 
''Sweet  heart"!  she  might  have  been  the  first  girl 

born 
Whose  lover  ever  called  her  by  the  name. 

FRANK. 

Redgie,  I  don't  know  what  to  say  to  you. 

REGINALD. 

Say  nothing.     Talk  about  our  play. 

FRANK. 

Your  play! 
We  are  like  to  play,  it  seems,  without  a  stage. 
Another,  and  a  sadder. 


32  THE   SISTERS.  act  i. 

REGINALD. 

Don't  be  sure. 

My  play  is  highly  tragic.      Italy, 
Steel,  poison,  shipwreck  — 

FRANK. 

One  you  made  at  school, 
Is  it?     I  know  what  those  were. 


REGINALD. 

Wait  and  see. 
Enter  Sir  Francis  Dilston. 

SIR    FRANCIS. 

Well,  Frank,  — how  are  you,  Reginald?  —  you  let 
Mabel  go  out  ■ —  and  unattended  ? 


FRANK. 

Come, 
Father,  you  would  not  have  me  (think  how  she 
Would  hate  it!)  hang  about  her  like  a  burr? 

SIR    FRANCIS. 

No  —  no.     But  there's  a  medium,  sir.  between 
Neglect  and  persecution. 


SCENE  I.  THE  SISTERS.  33 

FRANK. 

Well,  I  hope 
And  think  I've  hit  that  medium. 

SIR    FRANCIS. 

Reginald, 
If  you  were  Mabel's  lover,  or  in  hope 
To  be  her  lover,  could  you  slight  her  so? 

REGINALD. 


1  can't  imagine  that  condition. 


SIR    FRANCIS. 

Then 
You  youngsters  are  no  more  your  fathers'  sons 
Than  moles  are  sons  of  eagles. 


FRANK. 

Rats  of  cats, 


Say,  father. 


SIR    FRANCIS. 


Eh!  was  that  an  epigram? 
The  point,  my  boy?     Because  we  worry  you? 


34  THE  SISTERS.  act  i. 

FRANK. 

Because  we  scuttle  where  you  used  to  spring, 
And  nibble  when  you  used  to  bite.     At  least, 
You  say  so  —  or  they  say  so. 

SIR    FRANCIS. 

Heaven  forbid! 
Tom  Jones  and  Lovelace  were  not  gods  of  ours. 
But  if  we  meant  to  win  and  keep  a  heart 
Worth  winning  and  worth  keeping,  Frank,  we  knew 
We  must  not  seem  to  slight  it.    ' '  Pique  and  soothe, ' ' 
Young  Byron  bids  you  —  don't  stand  off  and  gape. 
There  may  be  better  means  than  his,  if  you 
Love  as  I  trust  you  love  her.     There's  the  bell. 

\Exeu7it. 


SCENE  II.  THE  SISTERS.  35 


Scene  II.  —  I?i  the  Garden. 
Frank  and  Mabel. 

FRANK. 

I  may  not  say  what  any  man  may  say  ? 

MABEL. 

To  me  ?     And  any  man,  you  think,  may  say 
Foolish  and  heartless  things  to  me?  or  is  it 
Only  the  heir  of  Heronshaw  who  claims 
A  right  so  undeniable? 

FRANK. 

Is  the  taunt 
Fair  to  yourself  or  me?     You  do  not  think  — 

MABEL. 

You  have  the  right  to  make  mock  love  to  me? 
I  do  not. 

FRANK. 

How  have  you  the  right  to  call 
Truth  mockery,  knowing  I  love  you  ? 


36  THE  SISTERS.  act  i. 

MABEL. 

How  should  I 
Know  it?     If  you  mistake  me  now  for  Anne, 
You  may  mistake  her  presently  for  me. 

FRANK. 

Anne? 

MABEL. 

If  vou  care  for  either  cousin  —  much, 
It  ought,  by  all  I  ever  heard  or  read. 
To  be  the  one  you  are  always  bickering  with. 

FRANK. 

She  does  not  like  me. 

MABEL. 

She  does  not  dislike. 

FRANK. 

Her  liking  would  not  help  nor  her  dislike 
Forbid  me  to  be  happy.     You  perhaps  — 
I  can't  guess  how  you  can  —  may  think  so  :  she 
Cannot.     And  if  I  did  —  worse  luck  for  me!  — 
What  chance  should  I  have?     Can  you  not  have 
seen 


I 


SCENE  II.  THE   SISTERS.  37 

—  Not  once  —  not  ever  —  how  her  face  and  eyes 
Change  when  she  looks  at  Redgie? 

MABEL. 

What!  — Absurd! 
You  love  her,  and  are  mad  with  jealousy. 

FRANK. 

Mad  if  I  am,  my  madness  is  to  love 
You.     But  you  must  have  seen  it. 


MABEL. 

Jealous. 

FRANK. 


I  am  not 


You  need  not  have  an  eye  to  see  it. 
Her  voice  might  tell  you,  when  she  speaks  to  him. 


MABEL. 


The  tone  is  just  like  yours  or  mine.      Of  course 
We  all  make  much  —  or  something  —  of  him  now; 
Since  he  came  back,  I  mean. 


38  THE  SISTERS.  act  i. 

FRANK. 

From  Waterloo; 
I  knew  it  —  an  interesting  young  cousin.     Well, 
He  does  deserve  his  luck,  I  know;  he  did 
Always :  and  you  were  always  good  to  him. 

MABEL. 

He  always  needed  somebody,  poor  boy, 
To  be  so. 

FRANK. 

Ah,  if  that  were  all !     Because 
His  guardian,  my  good  father,  — good  to  me 
Always  —  his  cousin,  in  whose  grounds  we  now 
Walk  and  discuss  him  —  and  his  schoolmasters, 
You  think,  were  apt  — 

MABEL. 

To  ill-use  him?     No;  nor  yet 
Misunderstand  him:  that  I  did  not  mean. 
But    she    who    knew    him  and   loved  him  best   is 

gone  — 
His  aunt  and  mine  —  your  mother. 


SCENE  II.  THE  SISTERS.  39 

FRANK. 

Yes :  she  did 
Love  him!  she  must  have  loved  his  mother  more 
Than  many  sisters  love  each  other. 

MABEL. 

More 
Than  I  love  Anne  or  Anne  loves  me.'*     I  hope 
Not.       But    when    death    comes    in  —  and    leaves 

behind 
A  child  for  pledge  and  for  memorial,  love 
Must  naturally  feel  more  —  I  want  the  word; 
More  of  a  call  upon  it  —  not  a  claim  — 
A  sort  of  blind  and  dumb  and  sweet  appeal 
Out  of  the  dark,  and  out  of  all  the  light 
That  burns  no  more  but  broods  on  all  the  past  — 
A  glowworm  on  a  grave.      And  you,  I  know. 
Were  never  jealous:   all  the  house  knew  that, 
And  loved  you  for  it  as  we  did. 

FRANK. 

Ah  —  as  you 
Did!     I'd  have  had  you  love  me  more  than  they, 
If  it  had  not  been  too  great  and  sweet  a  thing 
For  me  to  dream  of. 


40  THE  SISTERS.  act  i. 

MABEL. 

Do  not  dream  at  all. 
What  good  can  come  of  dreaming? 

FRANK. 

Less  than  none, 
If  dreaming,  doubt,  or  fear,  should  take  away 
The  little  comfort,  such  as  it  is  —  God  knows, 
Not  much,  though  precious  —  that  your  kind   last 

words 
Gave  me.     Too  kind  they  were,  Mabel.     I  was, 
And  am.  jealous  of  Redgie;   more  to-night 
Than  ever:  but  I  will  not  be. 


MABEL. 


I  am  sure 


You  will  not.      Why? 


FRANK. 

Because  I  know  —  I  am  sure, 
Mabel  —  more  sure  than  you  can  be  of  me 
Or  I  can  of  myself  —  he  would  not  grudge 
Nor  envy  me  my  happiness  if  you 
Could  bring  yourself  to  make  me  happy. 


SCENE  II.  THE  SISTERS.  4 1 


MABEL. 


Why 


Should  he? 


FRANK. 

Ask  him. 

MABEL. 

A  pretty  thing  to  ask! 
But,  Frank,  it's  good,  and  very  good,  of  you 
To  say  so —  if  you  care  for  me  at  all, 
And  think  it  possible  I  could  care  for  him. 

FRANK. 

I  think  it  more  than  possible:  but  he 

Does  not.      You'll   have    to    tell    him.      Don't    let 

Anne 
Hear  you. 

MABEL. 

I  would  not  let  her,  certainly, 
If  I  were  tempted  to  propose  to  you. 
Do   you   think   that  girls  —  that  women   do   such 
things? 


42  THE  SISTERS.  act  i. 

FRANK. 

No:  but  I  do  think  —  think,  by  heaven!  I  know  — 
He  will  not  tell  you  what  a  child  might  see, 
That  he  can  love,  and  does,  better  than  I, 
And  all  his  heart  is  set  on  you.     But  Anne 
Loves  him :  you  must  have  seen  it. 

MABEL. 

You  love  her. 
And  do  not  know  it,  and  take  me  for  her,  seeing 
Her  features  in  my  face,  and  thinking  she 
Loves  Redgie:  is  not  this  the  truth?     Be  frank. 
Or  change  your  name  for  one  that  means  a  lie  — 
Iscariot  or  Napoleon. 

FRANK. 

God  forbid! 
I  tell  you  what  I  am  sure  of,  as  I  am  sure 
I  wish  I  were  not. 

MABEL. 

Sure?     How  can  you  be? 

FRANK. 

Are  you  not  sure  ?     Be  honest.     Can  you  say 

You  doubt  he  would  have  told  you  —  what  he  won't 


SCENE  II.  THE  SISTERS.  43 

And  can't  —  had  he  been  heir  of  Heronshaw 
Or  Anyshaw?     You  might  have  spared  that  taunt, 
Mabel.     But  can  you  say  it?     You  never  were 
A  liar,  and  never  can  be.     Tell  him  then 
The  truth  he  will  not  tell  you. 

MABEL. 

What  if  he 
Rejects  me?     This  is  past  a  joke. 

FRANK. 

It  IS. 

MABEL. 

I  knew  you  could  not  love  me.      Why  make  love? 

FRANK. 

I  love  you;  but  I  see  how  you  love  him ; 

And  think  you  are  right.      He  loves  you  more  than 

I  — 
Yes,  more  than  I  can  —  more  than  most  men  could 
Love  even  you.     You  are  no  mate  for  me, 
I  am  no  mate  for  you,  the  song  says.     Well, 
So  be  it.     God  send  you  happiness  with  him! 
He  has  done  more  than  give  you  up  —  give  up 


44  THE  SISTERS.  act  i. 

All  chance  of  you  —  he  would  not  take  the  chance 
That  honor,  as  he  thought,  forbade.     Do  you 
Reward  him. 

MABEL. 

God  reward  you,  Frank !     You  see 
—  It's  true  —  I  love  him. 

FRANK. 

And  he  will  not  speak. 

Tell  him  to-morrow  —  and  come  in  to-night. 

[Exeunt. 


SCENE   I. 


THE   SISTERS,  45 


ACT    II. 

Scene  I.  —  Another  part  of  the  grounds. 

Enter  Sir  Arthur  Clavering  and  Reginald. 

SIR    ARTHUR. 

I'm   glad   you   love  the   old   place:    to   have   you 

here  — 
You  and  the  Dilstons  — brings  my  father's  time 
Back.     I  might  almost  be  your  father,  though ; 
Yours,    or    your    cousins' —  Frank's    or    Mabel's. 

Time 
Slips  on  like  water. 

REGINALD. 

Very  softly,  here ; 
Less  like  the  Kielder  than  the  Deadwater 
Till  both  make  up  the  Tyne. 

SIR    ARTHUR. 

It  wearies  you, 
Cousin?     Make  haste  then   and   grow  strong  and 
stout, 


46  THE  SISTERS.  act  ii. 

And  ride  away  to  battle :  till  you  can, 
I  mean  to  keep  you  prisoner  and  be  proud 
I  have  a  guest  who  struck  beside  the  Duke 
An  English  stroke  at  Waterloo. 

REGINALD. 

Beside, 
Arthur?     There's  no  one  born  can  boast  of  that. 
The  best  we  can  —  the  very  best  of  us  — 
Say  for  each  other,  is  just,  we  followed  him  — 
His  hand  and  eye  and  word  and  thought  —  and  did 
What  might  be  of  our  duty. 

SIR   ARTHUR. 

Well,  my  boy. 
Did  he  do  more?     You're  just  a  hothead  still  — 
The  very  schoolboy  that  I  knew  you  first  — 
On  fire  with  admiration  and  with  love 
Of  some  one  or  of  something,  always.      Now, 
Who  is  it  —  besides  your  general?  who  —  or  which? 
Anne's  chestnut  shell,  or  Mabel's  golden  fire  — 
Her  emerald  eyes,  or  Anne's  dark  violets  —  eh? 
You  have  them  both  (a  happy  hero  you !) 
Dancing  attendance  on  your  highness.      Here 
Comes  Mabel :  have  you  not  a  glove  to  throw  ? 


SCENE  I.  THE  SISTERS.  47 

Enter  Mabel. 

Dear  cousin,  make  him  talk  to  you:  to  me 
He  will  not;  and  I  have  not  time  to  dance 
Attendance  on  him.  {Exit. 

REGINALD. 

Arthur's  jokes  are  not 
Diamonds  for  brilliance:  but  he's  good. 


Are  you  ? 


MABEL. 
REGINALD. 

You  never  asked  me  that  of  old  times. 

MABEL. 

No: 
That  was  superfluous:  all  the  household  knew 
How  good  a  boy  you  were. 

REGINALD. 

And  you  ?     A  girl 
There  was  who  loved  the  saddle  as  well  as  I, 
And  was  not  slower  at  breaking  bounds. 


48  THE  SISTERS.  act  ii. 

MABEL. 

You  have  not 
Forgiven  me  what  you  suffered  for  my  sake 
So  often  —  much  too  often. 

REGINALD. 

No,  of  course. 
How  should  1 1 

MABEL. 

You  remember  our  old  rides — • 
Tell  me  about  your  ride  at  Waterloo. 

REGINALD. 

More  like  a  swim  against  a  charging  sea 
It  was,  than  like  a  race  across  the  moors 
Yonder. 

MABEL. 

But  when  a  breaker  got  you  down  — 
When  you  lay  hurt  it  might  have  been  to  death  — 
Will  you  not  tell  me  what  you  thought  of  then? 

REGINALD. 

No. 


SCENE  I.  THE   SISTERS.  49 


MABEL. 


Nothing? 


REGINALD. 

Nothing  I  can  tell  you  of. 

MABEL. 

Was  all  a  mist  and  whirlwind  —  like  the  shore 
Out  yonder  when  the  north-east  wind  is  high? 
That  I  can  fancy.     But  when  sense  came  back 
You  thought  of  nothing  you  can  tell  me  of, 
Reginald?  nothing? 

REGINALD. 

Nothing  I  can  tell 
Any  one  —  least  of  all,  women  or  men, 
Frank's  wife  that  is  to  be,  Mabel. 

MABEL. 

And  where 
Has  Frank  concealed  her  from  all  eyes  but  yours? 
You  are  too  sharp-sighted,  Redgie. 


so  THE  SISTERS.  act  ii. 

REGINALD, 

Did  she  not 
Ask  me  just  now  what  if  she  knew  —  she  must 
Have  known  the  answer  that  I  could  not  make  — 
It  was  not  right  or  kind  to  ask? 


IklABEL. 


Xot  she. 


REGINALD. 

Mabel ! 

MABEL. 

She's  innocent,  at  least. 

REGINALD. 

Vou  mean —  ? 

MABEL, 

I  mean  she  is  not  here.     Xor  anywhere 
But  in  the  silliest  dreamiest  brain  alive  — 
The  blindest  head  cheating  the  trustiest  heart 
That  ever  made  a  man  —  untrustworthy. 

You  did  not  dream  or  think  of  any  old  friend 

Anne,    Frank,    or  me  —  when  you  were    lyino-,   cut 
down, 


SCENE  I.  THE  SISTERS.  5 1 

Helpless,  that  hideous  summer  night  ?     And  now 
You  will  not  speak  or  stir?     O,  Reginald, 
Must  I  sav  eventhins:  —  and  more  —  and  you 


Nothing? 


REGINALD. 

Mv  love :     Mabel  \     What  can  I  ? 


MABEL. 


Just  that  again. 


REGINALD. 

How  can  it  be? 

MABEL. 


My  love, 


How  could  it  be  ? 


This? 


REGINALD. 

How  have  I  deser\'ed 

MABEL. 


Say 


How  can  I  tell  you?     Do  you  tell  me 
Now,  what  you  would  not  tell  Frank's  wife. 


52  THE  SISTERS.  act  ii. 


REGINALD. 


You  know 


I  need  not  tell  vou. 


MABEL. 


Tell  me.  though. 


REGINALD. 

I  thought. 
Between  the  shoots  and  swoon ings.  off  and  on, 
How  hard  it  was.  if  anything  was  hard 
\\'hen  one  was  dying  for  England,  not  to  see 
^Nlabel,  when  I  could  see  the  stars.      I  thou2:ht 
How  sweet  it  was  to  know  they  shone  on  her 
Asleep  or  w^aking,  here  at  home.      I  thought 
I  could  have  wished,  and  should  not  wish,  to  send 
My  whole  heart's  love  back  as  my  life  went  out, 
To  find  her  here  and  clasp  her  close  and  sav 
What  I  could  never  —  how  much  I  had  loved  her. 

Then 
1  thought  how  base  and  bad  a  fool  I  was 
To  dream  of  wishing  what  would  grieve  her.     Then 
I  think  I  fell  asleep. 


SCENE  I.  THE  SISTERS.  53 


MABEL. 


And  that  was  all, 


Red^ie? 


REGINALD. 

And  that  was  all.  Mabel. 


MABEL. 

You  did  — 
You  did  not  think,  if  she  had  known —  if  she, 
Asleep  and  dreaming  here,  had  dreamed  of  it  — 
\Vhat    love    she    would    have    sent    you    back    for 

yours  — 
Yours  —  how  could  she  be  worth  it?     Did  you  not 
See,  as  you  lay  —  know,  as  your  pain  sank  down 
And  died  and  left  you  yet  not  quite  asleep  — 
How  past  all  words  she  loved  you?     Reginald! 
You  did  not? 

REGINALD. 

How  should  I  have  dreamed  of  heaven? 
I'm  not  a  saint,  Mabel. 


54  THE  SISTERS.  \  act  ii. 

MABEL, 

And  what  am  I 
Who  ask  a  man  what,  being  the  man  he  is, 
He  will  not  ask  me  —  and  am  not  ashamed? 

REGINALD. 

You  are  more  than  ever  a  man  whom  heaven  loved 

best 
Saw  shining  out  of  heaven  in  dreams  —  more  dear, 
More  wonderful  than  angels.      How  you  can 
Care  for  me  really  and  truly  —  care  for  me, 
It  beats  my  wits  to  guess. 

MABEL. 

It's  very  strange, 
Of  course:  what  is  there  in  you  to  be  loved.? 

REGINALD. 

There's  many  a  true  word  said  in  jest.      But  you! 
Why,  all  the  world  might  fall  down  at  your  feet 
And  you  not  find  a  man  m  all  the  world 
Worth  reaching  out  your  hand  to  raise.      And  I ! 
The  best  luck  never  finds  the  best  man  out, 
They  say;  but  no  man  living  could  deserve 
This. 


SCENE   I. 


THE   SISTERS.  55 


MABEL. 


Well,  you  always  were  the  best  to  me ; 
The  brightest,  bravest,  kindest  boy  you  were 
That  ever  let  a  girl  misuse  him  —  make 
His  loving  sense  of  honor,  courage,  faith. 
Devotion,  rods  to  whip  him  —  literally. 
You  know  —  and  never  by  one  word  or  look 
Protested.     You  were  born  a  hero,  sir. 
Deny  it,  and  tell  a  louder  lie  than  when 
You  used  to  take  my  faults  upon  you.      How 
I  loved  you  then,  and  always!     Now,  at  last, 
You  see,  you  make  me  tell  it:  which  is  not 
As  kind  as  might  be,  or  as  then  you  were. 

REGINALD. 

I  never  was  or  could  be  fit  for  you 
To  glance  on  or  to  tread  on.     You,  whose  face 
Was  always  all  the  light  of  all  the  world 
To  me  —  the  sun  of  suns,  the  flower  of  flowers, 
The  wonder  of  all  wonders  —  and  your  smile 
The  light  that  lit  the  dawn  up,  and  your  voice 
A  charm  that  might  have  thrilled  and  stilled  the 
sea  — 


50  THE  SISTERS.  act  ii. 

You,  to  put  out  that  heavenly  hand  of  yours 
And  lift  up  me  to  heaven,  above  all  stars 
But  those  God  gave  you  for  your  eyes  on  earth 
That  all  might  know  his  angel! 

MABEL. 

There  —  be  still. 

Enter  Frank  {at  a  distance). 

Here  comes  our  bridesman  —  and  our  matchmaker. 

He  told  me  that  he  loved  me  yesterday, 

But  that  you  loved  me  better  —  more  than  he, 

And,  Redgie,  that  you  would  not  tell  me  so 

Till  I  had  made  an  offer  for  your  hand. 

A  prophet,  was  he  not  .^ 

REGINALD. 

Did  he  say  that.-* 
I'd  like  to  black  his  boots. 

MABEL. 

You  weren't  his  fag, 
Were  you?  —  Well,  Frank,  you  told  me  yesterday 
Nothing  but  truth :  and  this  has  come  of  it. 


SCENE   I. 


THE  SISTERS.  57 


FRANK. 

Your  hand  in  Redgie's?     All  goes  right,  then? 


MABEL. 


All. 


I  did  not  give  him,  I  confess,  a  chance. 

REGINALD. 

Frank,  I  can't  look  you  in  the  face  — and  yet 
I  hope  and  think  I  have  not  played  you  false. 

FRANK. 

Well,  if  you  swore  you  had,  Redgie  my  boy, 
I'd  not  believe  you.     You  play  false, indeed! 
To  look  me  in  the  face  and  tell  me  that 
Would    need    more    brass    than    nature   gave    your 
brows. 

REGINALD. 

But  how  to  look  your  father  in  the  face  — 
Upon  my  honor !     You  must  help  me,  Frank. 

FRANK. 

And  that  I  will,  Redgie.     But  don't  you  dream 
He'll  think  there's  any  need  of  any  help, 
Excuse,  or  pretext  for  you.     Any  fool 
Must  have  foreseen  it. 


58  THE  SISTERS. 


ACT   II. 


MABEL. 

Yes  —  I  think  he  must. 
Any  but  one,  at  least  — who  would  not  see. 
Frank,  I  proposed  to  him  —  I  did.      He  is 
So  scandalously  stupid! 

FRANK. 

Ah,  you  know, 
I  told  you.     That  was  unavoidable. 

REGINALD. 

You  sons  and  daughters  of  good  luck  and  wealth 
Make  no  allowance  —  cannot,  I  suppose  — 
For  such  poor  devils  as  poor  relations.      Frank, 
I  think  1  see  you  —  in  my  place,  I  mean  — 
Making  the  least  love  in  the  world  to  her  — 
Letting  her  dream  you  loved  her! 

FRANK. 

Well,  did  you.? 

MABEL. 

He  did. 

REGINALD. 

I  don't  know  how  I  did. 


SCENE  I.  THE  SISTERS.  59 


Know, 


MABEL. 

But  I 


FRANK. 


I  can  guess.    He  never  dropped  a  word 
Nor  looked  a  look  to  say  it  —  and  so  you  knew. 

MABEL. 

Yes:  that  was  it. 

FRANK. 

When  I  go  courting,  then, 
ril  take  a  leaf  out  of  old  Redgie's  book. 
And  never  risk  a  whisper  —  never  be 
Decently  civil.     Well,  it's  good  to  see 
How  happy  you  two  are. 

MABEL. 

Hush !     Here  comes  Anne. 
Enter  Anne. 

ANNE. 

I  heard  what  Frank  said.      And  I  hope  you  are 
Happy,  and  always  will  be. 


6o  THE   SISTERS. 


ACT   II. 


I  know  I  ought  not. 


REGINALD. 

Thanks.     And  yet 

ANXE. 

Complimentary,   that, 


To  Mabel. 


REGINALD. 

Mabel  understands. 

ANNE. 

Of  course. 
She  always  understood  you. 

REGINALD. 

Did  she?     Xo: 
She  always  made  too  much  of  me  —  and  now 
Much  more  too  much  than  ever.      God  knows  why. 

ANNE. 

God  knows  what  happiness  I  wish  you  both. 

REGINALD. 

Thank  her.  Mabel. 


SCENE   I. 


THE  SISTERS.  6l 


MABEL. 

I  can't.     She  frightens  me. 
Anne! 

ANNE. 

Am  I  grown  frightful  to  all  of  you? 
Are  you  afraid  of  me,  Reginald? 


REGINALD. 

What 
Can  ail  you,  Mabel?     What  can  frighten  you? 


ANNE. 

Excitement  —  passionate  happiness  —  I  see. 
Enough  to  make  a  girl  —  before  men's  eyes  — 
Shrink  almost  from  her  sister. 

MABEL. 

Anne,  you  knew 
This  was  to  be  —  if  Redgie  pleased. 

ANNE. 

I  did; 
And  did  not  doubt  it  would  be. 


62  THE  SISTERS.  act  ii. 

FRANK. 

These  are  strange 
Congratulations.     Anne,  you  must  have  thought 
It  would  not. 

ANNE. 

What  I  thought  or  did  not  think 
I  know  perhaps  as  well  as  you.      And  now 
I  need  not  surely  twice  congratulate 
My  sister  and  my  brother  —  soon  to  be. 

MABEL. 

Let  us  go  in. 

ANNE. 

You  seem  so  happy  too 
That  we  must  all  congratulate  you,  Frank. 

\Exeiint. 


SCENE   I. 


THE  SISTERS. 


63 


ACT    III. 
Scene  I.  —  ///  tJic  Garden. 
Anne  and  Mabel. 

ANNE. 

This  heartsease  bed  is  richer  than  it  was 
Last  year  —  and  so  it  should  be;  should  it  not? 
f^or  your  sake  and  for  his,  I  mean.      See  here; 
Here's  one  all  black  —  a  burning  cloud  of  black, 
With  crolden  sunrise  at  its  heart;  and  here's 
One  all  pure  gold  from  shapely  leaf  to  leaf, 
And  just  its  core  or  centre  black  as  night. 

MABEL. 

They  call  them  pansies  too,  you  know. 


ANNE. 

But  you 
Must  call  them  heartsease  now.     Tell  me  —  what 


thoughts 


UNIVEKSITI 


64  THE  SISTERS.  act  hi. 

Have  lovers  that  the  lovely  plain  old  name 
Would  not  suit  better  than  all  others? 


MABEL. 

None, 

None  that  I  know  of  —  nor  does  Redgie.     Anne, 
How  can  we  two  thank  God  enough? 

ANNE. 

I'm  sure 
I  cannot  tell  you,  Mabel.      All  your  thoughts 
Are  flowers,  you  say,  and  flowers  as  sweet  as  tliese 
Whose  perfume  makes  the  rose's  coarse  and  dull; 
And  how  then  could  I  tell  you  how  to  thank 
God?    He  has  given  you  something  —  thought  or 

truth, 
If  truth  and  thought  are  not  the  same  —  which  I 
Cannot,  you  know,  imagine. 

MABEL,     ^ 

Ah,  you  will 
Some  day,  and  soon  —  you  must  and  will. 

ANNE. 

I  doubt 

That.      Can  the  world  supply  me,  do  you  think, 
With  such  another  Redgie? 


SCENE  I.  THE  SISTERS.  65 

MABEL. 

That's  not  fair. 

ANXE. 

I  must  put  up  with  something  second  rate? 
Frank,  for  example  —  if  he'd  have  me?     No, 
Dear  Mabel:  be  content  with  happiness; 
And  do  not  dream  it  gives  you  power  to  play- 
Providence,  or  a  prophet.     Is  he  not 
Waiting    for    you  —  there,     by    the    hawthorns  — 

there  — 
And,  certainly,  not  wanting  me  ? 


MABEL. 

He  is  ! 
I  told  him  not  to  come  and  wait  for  me.  \^Exit. 


ANXE. 

I  cannot  bear  it:  and  I  cannot  die. 
Enter  Sir  Arthur. 

SIR    ARTHUR. 

Our  lovers  are  not  here  ?     Ah,  no ;  they  want 
Seclusion  —  shade  and  space  between  the  trees 
To  chirp  and  twitter.     Well,  no  wonder. 


66  THE   SISTERS. 


ACT   III. 


ANNE. 

No. 

SIR    ARTHUR. 

The  handsomest  and  happiest  pair  they  are 
That  England  or  Northumberland  could  show, 
Are  they  not  ? 

ANNE. 

Yes;  Mabel  is  beautiful. 

SIR    ARTHUR. 

You  don't  think  much  of  Redgie,  then? 

ANNE. 

He  looks, 
With  all  that  light  soft  shining  curly  hair, 
Too  boyish  for  his  years  and  trade :  but  men 
Don't  live  or  die  by  their  good  looks  or  bad. 

SIR    ARTHUR. 

You  don't  call  soldiership  a  trade.'     And  then, 
His  years  are  not  so  many  —  not  half  mine, 
And  I'm  not  quite  a  greybeard. 


SCENE  I.  THE  SISTERS.  67 

ANNE. 

Let  him  be 
Apollo  —  Apollino  if  you  like, 
Your  all  but  girl-faced  godling  in  the  hall. 
.He  did  not  win  her  with  his  face  or  curls. 

SIR    ARTHUR. 

I  am  proud  to  know  he  did  not.     Are  not  you  ? 

ANNE. 

Proud  of  him?     Why  should  I  be  ? 


SIR    ARTHUR. 

No;  of  her. 


ANNE. 

0 1     Yes,  of  course  —  ver}'.     Not  every  girl, 
Of  course,  would  condescend  —  to  look  so  high. 

SIR    ARTHUR. 

A  fine  young  loyal  fellow,  kind  and  brave, 
Wants  no  more  gilding,  does  he  ? 

ANNE. 

Luckily, 
We  see,  he  does  not.     Here  she  comes  alone. 
She  has  sent  him  in  to  rest  —  or  speak  to  Frank. 


68  THE  SISTERS. 


ACT   III. 


Rc-ejite7'  Mabel. 
You  have  not  kept  him  hanging  round  you  long. 
You  are  not  exacting,  Mabel. 


Need  I  be  ? 


MABEL. 

ANNE. 

We  see  you  need  not. 

SIR    ARTHUR. 

Mabel,  may  I  say 
How  very  and  truly  glad  I  am  ? 


MABEL. 

You  may 
Indeed,  and  let  me  thank  you.      That  you  must. 


SIR   ARTHUR. 

It  makes  one  laugh,  or  smile  at  least,  to  think 
,That  Master  Redgie  always  was  till  now 
The  unlucky  boy  —  the  type  of  luckless  youth, 
Poor  fellow  —  and  now  it  seems  you  are  going  to 

give 
Or  rather  have  given  him  more  than  his  deserts 
Or  most  men's,  if  not  any  man's.      I  am 
Glad. 


SCENE   I. 


THE   SISTERS.  69 


MABEL. 

Please  don't  compliment.     You  know  I  have  known 
Reginald  all  my  life  —  and  can't  but  know 
How  much  more  he  deserves  than  1  can  give. 

AXNE. 

She  has  the  courage  of  her  faith,  you  see. 

MABEL. 

Don't  play  at  satire,  Annie,  when  you  know 
How  true  it  is. 

ANNE. 

Of  course  I  know  it,  Mab. 
He  always  was  incomparable.      At  school 
His  masters  always  said  so,  and  at  home  — 
Ah,  well,  perhaps  the  grooms  did. 

MABEL. 

One  would  think 
You  did  not  know  him,  and  hated  him.      I  wish 
Almost  he  did  not  —  as  he  does  —  deserve 
Far  more  than  I  shall  bring. 


70  THE   SISTERS.  act  hi. 

SIR    ARTHUR. 

Impossible : 

Even  if  he  were  —  no  subaltern,  but  even 
The  Duke  himself. 

Enter  Frank  and  Reginald. 

FRANK. 

Who's  talking  of  the  Duke  ? 
Ask  Redgie  what  he  thinks  of  him. 

REGINALD. 

No.  don't. 
^\\  name's  not  Homer. 

ANNE, 

Frenchmen  say  — 

REGINALD. 

Dear  Anne, 
Don't  you  sav  "Frenchmen  sav '"  —  sav   •"  French- 

men  lie." 
They  call  the  man  who  thrashes  them  a  cur; 
Then  what  must  thev  be  ? 


SCENE  I.  THE  SISTERS.  /I 

SIR   ARTHUR. 

Try  to  tell  us,  though, 
Something  —  if  only  to  confute  the  frogs 
And  shame  their  craven  croaking. 

REGINALD. 

What  on  earth 
Can  I  or  any  man  —  could  Wordsworth,  even  — 
Say  that  all  England  has  not  said  of  him 
A  thousand  times,  and  will  not  say  again 
Ten  thousand .'' 

SIR   ARTHUR. 

Come,  my  boy,  you're  privileged, 
You  know:  you  have  served,  and  seen  him. 

REGINALD. 

Seen  him?     Yes. 
You  see  the  sun  each  morning;  but  the  sun 
Takes  no  particular  notice  and  displays 
No  special  aspect  just  for  your  behoof, 
Does  it? 

MABEL. 

He  never  spoke  to  you? 


72  THE  SISTERS.  act  hi, 


Why  not? 


REGINALD. 


MABEL. 


REGINALD. 


To  me  ? 


He  might  of  course  to  any  one; 
But  I'm  not  lucky  —  never  was,  you  know. 


ANNE. 

They  say  that  none  of  you  who  have  followed  him 
Love  him  as  Frenchmen  love  Napoleon. 

REGINALD. 

No. 
How  should  they?     No  one  loves  the  sun  as  much 
As  drunken  fools  love  wildfires  when  they  go 
Plunging  through  marsh   and  mire  and  quag  and 

haugh 
To  find  a  filthy  grave. 

SIR    ARTHUR. 

Come,  come,  my  boy ! 
Remember  —  "love  your  enemies." 


SCENE   I. 


THE  SISTERS.  Th 


REGINALD. 

When  I  have 


Any,  I'll  try;  but  not  my  country's;  not 

Traitors  and  liars  and  thieves  and  murderers  —  not 

Heroes  of  French  or  Irish  fashion.     Think 

How  fast  the  Duke  stands  always  — how  there's  not 

A  fellow  — can't  be  — drudging  in  the  rear 

Who  does  not  know  as  well  as  that  the  sun 

Shines,  that  the  man  ahead  of  all  of  us 

Is  fit  to  lead  or  send  us  anywhere 

And  sure  to  keep  quick  time  with  us,  if  we 

Want  or  if  duty  wants  him  —  bids  the  chief 

Keep  pace  with  you  or  me.      And  then  just  think, 

Could  he,  suppose  he  had  been  —  impossibly  — 

Beaten  and  burnt  out  of  the  country,  lashed, 

Lashed  like  a  hound  and  hunted  like  a  hare 

Back  to  his  form  or  kennel  through  the  snow, 

Have  left  his  men  dropping  like  flies,  devoured 

By  winter  as  if  by  fire,  starved,  frozen,  blind, 

INIaimed,  mad  with  torment,  dying  in  hell,  while  he 

Scurried  and  scuttled  off  in  comfort? 


MABEL. 

No. 


He  could  not.     Arthur  quite  agrees.      And  now 
Be  quiet. 


74  THE  SISTERS.  act  hi. 


SIR    ARTHUR. 

Redgie  takes  away  one's  breath. 
But  that's  the  trick  to  catch  young  ladies'  hearts  — 
Enthusiasm  on  the  now  successful  side. 

MABEL. 

Successful!     If  we  could  have  failed,  you  know, 
He  would  have  been  —  he,  I,  and  you  and  all. 
All  of  us,  all.  more  passionate  and  keen 
And  hotter  in  our  faith  and  loyalty 
And  bitterer  in  our  love  and  hate  than  now 
When  thoughts  of  England  and  her  work  are  not 
Tempered  with  tears  that  are  not  born  of  pride 
And  joy  that  pride  makes  perfect. 

FRANK. 

Let's  be  cool. 
I  have  not  seen  you  quite  so  hot  and  red 
Since  you  vrere  flogged  for  bathing  at  the  Weir, 
Redgie. 

REGINALD. 

Which  time?  the  twentieth.^ 


SCENE  I.  THE   SISTERS.  75 

FRANK. 

That  at  least. 

MABEL. 

Poor  fellow! 


And  spoilt  me. 


REGINALD. 

Ah,  you  always  pitied  me  — 

MABEL. 


No  one  else  did,  Reginald. 


REGINALD. 

And  right  and  wise  they  were  — a  worthless  whelp! 

MABEL. 

Very.     Not  worth  a  thought  —  were  you  ? 

REGINALD. 

I'm  sure 
Not  worth  a  tear  of  yours  —  and  yet  you  cried 
Sometimes,  you  know,  for  my  mischances. 


76  THE   SISTERS. 


ACT   III. 


SIR   ARTHUR. 

Ay? 
So,  boy  and  girl  were  born  for  bride  and  groom. 
Were  they?     There's  nothing  now  to  qx\  for,  then. 

ANNE. 

Arthur  forgets :  are  love  and  happiness 

Nothing  to  cx\  for?     Tears,  we  are  told,  are  siens 

Infallible —  indispensable  —  of  jov. 

FRANK. 

Mabel  and  Redgie,  then,  must  be  just  now 
Unhappy  —  very  unhappy.      Can  they  nil 
With  us  their  parts  to-morrow  in  his  play? 

MABEL. 

\  es :   I  know  mine :  and  Anne  knows  hers. 


AXXE. 

And  Frank 
His.      Does  he  stab  you.  Redgie,  on  the  stage  ? 


REGINALD. 

Yes,  as  I  save  him  from  the  shipwreck. 


SCENE  I.  THE   SISTERS.  77 


riR    ARTHUR. 


That's  something  like  a  villain. 


Good  ! 


ANNE. 

I'm  as  bad. 
I  poison  Mabel  —  out  of  love  for  Frank. 


SIR    ARTHUR. 

Heaven  help  us,  what  a  tragic  day  or  night! 

It's  well  the  drawing-room  and  the  libraries 

Are  all  rigged  up  ship-shape,  with  stage  and  box 

Ready,  and  no  such  audience  to  be  feared 

As  might  —  I  don't  say  would,  though,  Reginald  — 

Hiss  you  from  pit  and  gallery. 

REGINALD. 

That  they  would ! 
It's  all  a  theft  from  Dodsley's  great  old  plays, 
I  know  you'll  say  —  third  rate  and  second  hand. 
The  book,  you  know,  you  lent  me  when  a  boy  — 
Or  else  I  borrowed  and  you  did  not  lend. 


7^  THE   SISTERS. 


ACT   III. 


SIR    ARTHUR. 

That's  possible,  you  bad  young  scamp.      I  wish 
We  could  have  seen  it  played  in  the  open  air 
Boccaccio-like  — but  that  would  scarcely  suit 
With  April  in  Northumberland. 

ANNE. 

Not  quite. 

REGINALD. 

Come,  don't  abuse  our  climate  and  revile 

The  crowning  county  of  England  —  yes,  the  best 

It  must  be. 

FRANK. 

Now  he's  off  again. 

REGINALD. 

I'm  not. 
But  I  just  ask  you  where  you'll  find  its  like? 
Have  you  and  I,  then,  raced  across  its  moors 
Till  horse  and  boy  were  well-nigh  mad  with  glee 
So  often,  summer  and  winter,  home  from  school. 
And  not  found  that  out?     Take  the  streams  away, 
The  country  would  be  sweeter  than  the  south 


SCENE  I.  THE   SISTERS.  79 

Anywhere :  give  the  south  our  streams,  would  it 
Be  fit  to  match  our  borders  ?     Flower  and  crag, 
Burnside    and   boulder,    heather    and   whin  —  you 

dont 
Dream   you  can  match   them  south   of   this?     And 

then. 
If  all  the  unwatered  country  were  as  flat 
As  the  Eton  playing-fields,  give  it  back  our  burns, 
And  set  them  singing  through  a  sad  south  world, 
And  try  to  make  them  dismal  as  its  fens  — 
They  won't  be  I     Bright  and  tawny,  full  of  fun 
And  storm  and  sunlight,  taking  change  and  chance 
With  laugh  on  laugh  of  triumph  —  why,  you  know 
How  they  plunge,  pause,   chafe,    chide   across  the 

rocks 
And  chuckle  along  the  rapids,  till  they  breathe 
And  rest  and  pant  and  build  some  bright  deep  bath 
For  happy  boys  to  dive  in,  and  swim  up, 
And  match  the  water's  laughter. 

SIR    ARTHUR. 

You  at  least 
Know  it,  we  doubt  not.     Woodlands  too  we  have, 
Have  we  not,  Mabel?  beech,  oak,  aspen,  pine. 


8o  THE   SISTERS. 


ACT   III. 


And  Redgie's  old  familiar  friend,  the  birch. 
With  all  its  blithe  lithe  bounty  of  buds  and  sprays 
For  hapless  boys  to  wince  at,  and  grow  red. 
And  feel  a  tingling  memory  prick  their  skins  — 
Sting  till  their  burning  blood  seems  all  one  blush  — 
Eh? 

REGINALD. 

I  beg  pardon  if  I  bored  you.      But  — 
You  know  there's  nothing  like  this  country.     Frank, 
Is  there  ? 

FRANK. 

I  never  will  dispute  with  you 
Anything,  Redgie.     This  is  what  you  call 
Being  peaceable,  is  it?  firing  up  like  tow 
And  rattling  off  like  small-shot? 


REGINALD. 


I  can't  help  — 


Can  I  ? 


FRANK. 


When  you  said  that  at  school,  my  lad, 
It  didn't  helo  vou  much. 


SCENE   I. 


THE  SISTERS.  8 1 


MABEL. 

Don't  bully  him  so. 
Don't  let  them,  Redgie. 

SIR   ARTHUR. 

Redgie  must  be  proof 
Now  against  jokes  that  used  to  make  the  boy 
Frown,  blush,  and  wince:  and  well  he  may  be. 


ANNE. 

Is  Reginald  much  wiser  than  he  was? 
He  seems  to  me  the  same  boy  still. 

SIR    ARTHUR. 

I  think;  but  now  the  luckiest  living. 

REGINALD. 


Why 


He  is, 


Yes. 


I'm  half  afraid  one  ought  not  anyhow 
To  be  so  happy.     None  of  you,  I  know, 
Our  brothers  and  our  sister,  think  it  right. 
You  cannot.      Nor  do  I. 

SIR   ARTHUR. 

A  willow-wreath 
For  Mabel !     Red^jie  turns  her  oif . 


82  THE  SISTERS.  act  hi. 

MABEL. 

He  might, 
If  she  would  let  him:  but  he'll  find  her  grasp 
Tenacious  as  a  viper's.      Be  resigned, 
Redgie :   I  shall  not  let  you  go. 

REGINALD. 

I  am 
Resigned.      But  if  God  bade  one  rise  to  heaven 
At  once,  and  sit  above  the  happiest  there, 
Resigned  one  might  be  —  possibly:  but  still 
Would  not  one  shrink  for  shame's  sake?     Look  at 

her 
And  me ! 

SIR    ARTHUR. 

I  never  saw  a  better  match 

MABEL. 

I  never  had  so  sweer  a  compliment 
Paid  me.      I  sha'n't  forget  it,  Arthur. 


REGINALD. 


What 


Possesses  all  of  you  to  try  and  turn 
The  poor  amount  of  head  I  have.  I  can't 


SCENE  I.  THE  SISTERS.  83 

Imagine.     One  might  think  you  had  laid  a  bet 

To  make  a  man  shed  tears  by  way  of  thanks 

And  laugh  at  him  for  cn-ing.      Frank,  —  Arthur.  — 

Anne, 
You  know  I  know  how  good  it  is  of  vou 
To  wish  me  joy  —  and  how  I  thank  you ;  that 
You  must  know. 

AXNE. 

Surely,  Reginald,  we  do. 
Good-will  like  ours  could  hardly  miss,  I  trust, 
Of  gratitude  like  yours. 

MABEL. 

What  is  it,  Anne.^ 
What  makes  you  smile  so? 

AXXE. 

Would  you  have  me  frown  ? 

MABEL. 

Rather  than  smile  like  that:  you  would  not  look 
So  enigmatic. 

ANNE. 

Let  it  pass,  my  dear: 
We  shall  not  smile  to-morrow,  when  we  play 


84  THE  SISTERS.  act  hi. 

Tragedy  —  shall  we?     Are  the  properties 
Ready  —  stiletto  and  poison-flask  ? 


REGINALD. 

Ah,  there 
We  are  lucky.     There's  the  old  laboratory,  made 
It  seems  for  our  stage  purpose,  where  you  know 
Sir  Edward  kept  his  chemicals  and  things  — 
Collections  of  the  uncanniest  odds  and  ends. 
Poisons  and  weapons  from  all  parts  of  the  earth, 
Which  Arthur  lets  us  choose  from. 

ANNE. 

Are  they  safe 
To  play  with  ? 

MABEL. 

Are  we  children,  Annie?     Still 
Perhaps  you  are  right :  we  had  better  let  them  be. 

SIR   ARTHUR. 

The  daggers  are  not  dangerous  —  blunt  as  lead  — 
That  I  shall  let  you  youngsters  play  with. 


SCENE  I.  THE  SISTERS.  85 

REGINALD. 

Good: 
But  how  about  the  poison  ?   let  us  have 
A  o-enuine  old  Venetian  flask  to  fill 
With  wine  and  water. 

ANNE. 

Let  me  choose  it. 


MABEL. 

You? 


Why? 

ANNE. 

I  know  more  about  such  things. 


MABEL. 

About 

Poison? 

ANNE. 

About  the  loveliest  old-world  ware 
FonthiU  or  Strawberry  Hill  could  furnish:  I'm 
Miss  Beckford,  or  Horatia  Walpole. 

SIR    ARTHUR. 

Come 
And  take  your  choice  of  the  empty  flasks.     Don't 

choose 
A  full  one  by  mistake. 


S6  THE   SISTERS. 


ACT    III. 


ANNE. 

I    promise   not. 
[Exeu?it  Sir  Arthur  a?id  Axxe. 

FRANK. 

I  leave  you  to  consult  together,  then  — 

The  playwright  and  his  heroine:  that's  but  fair. 

[Exit. 

MABEL. 

I  don't  quite  like  it,  Redgie:   I'm  afraid 
Anne  is  not  happy:   I'm  afraid. 

REGINALD. 

My  love, 
Is  any  one  unhappy  in  the  world? 
I  can't  just  now  believe  in  wretchedness. 

MABEL. 

But  I  can.     Redgie,  do  be  good  —  and  grave. 
I  talk  to  you  as  if  you  were  grown-up. 
You  see. 

REGINALD. 

You  do  me  too  much  honor. 


SCENE  I.  THE  SISTERS.  Sj 

MABEL. 

That 
I  do,  you  stupidest  of  tiresome  boys. 
Still,  you  were  never  ill-natured  were  you?     Well, 
Have  you  not  —  boys  see  nothing  —  don't  you  think 
You  might  have  seen,  had  you  but  eyes,  that  Anne 
Is  not —  I  don't  say  (that  would  be  absurd) 
As  happy  as  we  are  —  no  one  could  be  that  — 
But  not  —  not  happy  at  all? 

REGINALD. 

My  darling,  no. 
What  dream  is  this  —  what  lunacy  of  love? 

MABEL. 

Well —  I  must  tell  you  everything,  I  see  — 
I  wish  I  did  not  and  I  could  not  think 
Her  heart  or  fancy  —  call  it  either —  were 
More  fixed  on  Frank  than  ever  his  on  me. 

REGINALD. 

Eh !     Well,  why  not  ?     If  he  can  come  to  love 

Any  one,  after  thinking  once  he  loved 

You  —  and  vou  would  not  have  it  break  his  heart 


88  THE   SISTERS. 


ACT   III. 


Quite,  would  you?  —  what  could  well  befall  us  all 

Happier  than  this?     You  don't  suppose  he  can? 

To  me  it  seems  —  you  know  how  hard  and  strange 

It  seems  to  hope  or  fancy:  but  God  grant 

It  may  be !     If  old  Frank  were  happy  once, 

I  should  not  feel  I  ought  not  —  now  and  then  — 

To  be  so  happy  always. 

MABEL. 

But  you  ought. 
How  good  you  are,  Redgie ! 

REGINALD. 

O,  very  good. 
I'd  like  —  I  want  —  to  see  my  dearest  friends 
Happy  —  without  a  touch  of  trouble  or  pains 
For  me  to  take  or  suffer.      Wonderful, 
Is  it  not  ?  saintly  —  great  —  heroic  ? 

MABEL. 

Well,      . 
I  think  you  may  —  I  think  we  shall.      But  don't 
Be  boyish  —  don't  be  prompting  Frank:  you  know, 
Reginald,  what  I  mean. 


SCEINE   I. 


THE  SISTERS.  Sq 


REGINALD. 

Yes:  that  he  may  — 
Will,  ver>^  likely  — want  a  hand  like  yours 
Rather    than     mine     to    help    him  —  bring    him 

through  — 
Give  him  a  lift  or  shove. 

MABEL. 

Leave  well  alone. 
That's  all  I  mean. 

REGINALD. 

You  always  did  know  best, 
And  always  will:   I  shall  be  always  right 
Now  that  my  going  or  doing  or  saying  depends 
On   you.      It's   well    you   are   what  you  are:    yoii 

might, 
If  you  were  evil-minded,  make  a  man 
Run  from  his  post  — betray  or  yield  his  flag  — 
Duck  down  his  head  and  scuttle. 


MABEL. 

Not  a  man 


Like  you. 


90  THE  SISTERS.  act  hi. 

REGINALD. 

Let  no  man  boast  himself;  does  not 
The  Bible  say  —  something  like  that? 

MABEL. 

Perhaps. 
But  then  you  don't,  and  never  did,  you  know  — 
Not  even  about  this  play  of  yours.     Come  in : 
The  windy  darkness  creeps  and  leaps  by  fits 
Up  westward :  clouds,  and  neither  stars  nor  sun. 
And  just  the  ghost  of  a  lost  moon  gone  blind 
And  helpless.     If  we  are  to  play  at  all, 
I  must  rehearse  my  part  again  to-night.        \^Exeimt. 


SCENE   I. 


THE  SISTERS.  9^ 


ACT   IV. 

Scene  I.  —  A  stage  representing  a  garden  by  the  sea. 

Song  {from  within). 

Love  and  Sorrow  met  in  May 
Crowned  with  rue  and  hawthorn-spray. 

And  Sorrow  smiled. 
Scarce  a  bird  of  all  the  spring 
Durst  between  them  pass  and  sing, 

And  scarce  a  child. 

Love  put  forth  his  hand  to  take 
Sorrow's  wreath  for  sorrow's  sake. 

Her  crown  of  rue. 
Sorrow  cast  before  her  down 
Even  for  love's  sake  Love's  own  crown, 

Crowned  with  dew. 

Winter  breathed  again,  and  spring 
Cowered  and  shrank  with  wounded  wing 

Down  out  of  sight. 
May,  with  all  her  loves  laid  low, 
Saw  no  flowers  but  flowers  of  snow 

That  mocked  her  flight. 


92  THE  SISTERS.  act  iv 

Love  rose  up  with  crownless  head 
Smihng  down  on  springthne  dead, 

On  wintry  May. 
Sorrow,  Hke  a  cloud  that  flies, 
Like  a  cloud  in  clearing  skies, 

Passed  away. 


E7iter  Alvise. 

ALVISE. 

This  way  she  went:  the  nightingales  that  heard 
Fell  silent,  and  the  loud-mouthed  salt  sea-wind 
Took  honey  on  his  lips  from  hers,  and  breathed 
The  new-born  breath  of  roses.  Not  a  weed 
That  shivers  on  the  storm-shaped  lines  of  shore 
But  felt  a  fragrance  in  it,  and  put  on 
The  likeness  of  a  lily. 

Eiiter  Galasso. 

GA  LASSO. 

Thou  art  here. 
God  will  not  let  thee  hide  thyself  too  close 
For  hate  and  him  to  find  thee.     Draw:  the  light 
Is  good  enough  to  die  by. 


SCENE   I. 


THE  SISTERS.  93 


ALVISE, 

Thou  hast  found  him 

That  would    have   first  found  thee.      Set  thou  thy 

sword 

To  mine,  its  edge  is  not  so  fain  to  bite 

As  is  my  soul  to  slay  thee. 

[They  draw. 

Enter  Beatrice  and  Francesca. 

BEATRICE. 

What  is  this  ? 
What  serpent  have  ye  trod  on? 

ALVISE. 

Didst  thou  bid  me 
Draw,  seeing  far  off  the  surety  for  thy  life 
That  women's  tongues  should  bring  thee? 

BEATRICE. 

Speak  not  to  him. 
Speak  to  me  —  me,  Alvise. 

ALVISE. 

Sweet,  be  still. 
Galassi,  shall  I  smite  thee  on  the  lips 


I 


94  THE   SISTERS.  act  iv. 

That  dare  not  answer  with  a  lie  to  mine 
And  know  they  cannot,  if  they  speak,  but  lie? 

CALASSO. 

Thou  knowest  I  dare  not  in  Beatrice's  sight 
Strike  thee  to  hell  —  nor  threaten  thee. 

ALVISE. 

I  know 
Thou   liest.      She    stands   between    thy  grave    and 

thee, 
As  thou  between  the  sun  and  hell. 

FRANCESCA. 

My  lord, 
Forbear  him. 

GALASSO. 

I  am  not  thy  lord ;  who  made  me 
Master  or  lord  of  thine?     Not  God  should  say, 
Save  with  his  tongue  of  thunder,  and  be  heard 
(If  hearing  die  not  in  a  dead  man's  ear), 
''Forbear  him." 

ALVISE. 

Nay,  Beatrice,  bid  not  me 
Forbear:  he  will  not  let  me  bid  him  live. 


SCENE   I. 


THE   SISTERS.  95 


GALA5S0. 

Thou  shalt  not  find  a  tongue  some  half -hour  hence 
To  pray  with  to  my  sword  for  time  to  pray 
And  die  not  damned. 

FRANCESCA. 

Sir,  speak  not  blasphemy. 
Death's  wings  beat  round  about  us  day  and  night: 
Their  wind  is  in  our  faces  now.      I  pray  you, 
Take  heed. 

GALASSO. 

Of  what?  of  God,  or  thee?     Not  I. 
But  let  Beatrice  bend  to  me  — 

ALVISE. 

To  thee? 
Bend?     Nay,  Beatrice,  bind  me  not  in  chains, 
Who  would  not  play  thy  traitor:  give  my  sword 
What  God  gives  all  the  waves  and  birds  of  the  air. 
Freedom. 

BEATRICE. 

He  gives  it  not  to  slay. 


96  THE  SISTERS.  act  iv. 

ALVISE. 

He  shall. 
Are  the  waves  bloodless  or  the  vultures  bland? 
Loose  me,  love :  leave  me :  let  me  go. 

BEATRICE. 

Thou  shalt  not 
Put  off  for  me  before  my  face  thy  nature, 
Thy  natural  name  of  man,  to  mock  with  murder 
The  murderous  waves  and  beasts  of  ravin.      Slay 

me, 
And  God  may  give  thee  leave  to  slay  him:  I 
Shall  know  not  of  it  ever. 

GALASSO. 

Vivarini, 

These    women's    hands    that    here    strike    peace 

betv/een  us 

To-morrow  shall  not  stead  thee.     Live  a  little: 

My  sword  is  not  more  thirsty  than  the  sea. 

Nor  less  secure  in  patience.     Thou  shalt  find 

A  sea-rock  for  thy  shipwreck  on  dry  land  here 

When  thou  shalt  steer  again  upon  the  steel  of  it 

And  find  its  fang's  edge  mortal. 

\Exit. 


SCENE  I.  THE  SISTERS.  97 


ALVISE. 


Have  ye  shamed  me  ? 
Mine  enemy  goes  down  seaward  with  no  sign 
Set  of  my  sword  upon  him. 

BEATRICE. 

Let  him  pass. 
To-morrow  brings  him  back  from  sea  —  if  ever 
He  come  again. 

FRANCESCA. 

How  should  not  he  come  back,  then  1 

BEATRICE. 

The  sea  hath  shoals  and  storms. 

ALVISE. 

God  guard  him  —  till 
He  stand  within  my  sword's  reach! 

FRANXESCA. 

Pray  thou  rather 
God  keep  thee  from  the  reach  of  his. 


98  THE  SISTERS.  act  iv. 

ALVISE. 

He  cannot, 
Except  he  smite  to  death  or  deadly  sickness 
One  of  us  ere  we  join.      My  saint  Beatrice, 
Thou  hast  no  commission,   angel  though  thou  be. 

sweet. 
Given  thee  of  God  to  guard  mine  enemy's  head 
Or  cross  me  as  his  guardian, 

BEATRICE, 

Would  I  cross  thee, 
The  cpirit  I  live  by  should  stand  up  to  chide 
The  soul-sick  will  that  moved  me.      Yet   I  would 

not. 
Had  I  God's  leave  in  hand  to  give  thee,  give 
Thv  sword  and  his  such  leave  to  cross  as  misrht 
Pierce  through  my  heart  in  answer, 

ALVISE. 

Wouldst  thou  bid  me, 
V\'hen  he  comes  back  to-morrow  from  the  sea 
Whereon  to-day  his  ship  rides  royal,  yield 
Thee  and  my  sword  up  to  him? 


SCENE  I.  THE  SISTERS.  99 

FRANCESCA. 

Nay,  not  her: 
Thy  sword  she  might. 

ALVISE. 

She  would  not. 


BEATRICE. 


Fain  I  would, 


And  keep  thine  honor  perfect. 


ALVISE. 

That  may  be, 
When  heaven  and  hell  kiss,  and  the  noon  puts  on 
The  starry  shadow  of  midnight.      Sweet,  come  in : 
The  wind  grows  keener  than  a  flower  should  face 
And  fear  no  touch  of  trouble.      Doubt  me  not 
That  I  will  take  all  heed  for  thee  and  me. 
Who  am  now  no  less  than  one  least  part  of  thee. 

\Exeu7it. 


100  THE  SISTERS.  act  iv. 


Scene  II.  —  77^*?  same. 
Enter  Beatrice  and  Francesca. 

BEATRICE. 

The  wind  is  sharp  as  steel,  and  all  the  sky 

That  is  not  red  as  molten  iron  black 

As  iron  long  since  molten.     How  the  flowers 

Cringe  down  and  shudder  from  the  scourge  !    I  would 

Galasso's  ship  were  home  in  harbor. 

FRANCESCA. 

Here  ? 
What  comfort  wouldst  thou  give  him  ? 

BEATRICE. 

What  should  I  give  thee  ? 
Hadst  thou  some  gentler  maiden's  mercy  in  thee, 
Thou  might'st,  though  death  hung  shuddering  on  his 

lips 
And  mixed  its  froth  of  anguish  with  the  sea's, 
Revive  him. 

FRANCESCA. 

I,  Beatrice  ? 


THE  SISTERS. 


BEATRICE. 

Who  but  thou, 
Francesca  ? 

FRANCESCA. 

IMock  not,  lest  thy  scofE  turn  back 
Like  some  scared  snake  to  sting  thee. 

BEATRICE. 

Nay,  not  I : 
Dost  thou  not  mock  me  rather,  knowing  I  know 
Thou  lov'st  him  as  I  love  not  ?  as  I  love 
Alvise  ? 

FRANCESCA. 

There  is  none  I  love  but  God. 
Thou  knowest  he  doth  not  love  me. 

BEATRICE. 

Dost  thou  dream 
His  love  for  me  is  even  as  thine  for  him, 
Born  of  a  braver  father  than  is  hate, 
A  fairer  mother  than  is  envy  ?     Me 
He  loves  not  as  he  hates  my  lover :  thou 
Mayst  haply  set -as  in  this  garden-ground 


102  THE  SISTERS.  act  iv. 

Half  barren  and  all  bitter  from  the  sea 
Some  light  of  lilies  shoots  the  sun's  laugh  back  — 
Even  in  the  darkness  of  his  heart  and  hate 
Some  happier  flower  to  spring  against  thy  smile 
xVnd  comfort  thee  with  blossom. 

FRAN'CESCA. 

Thou  shouldst  be  not 
So  fast  a  friend  of  mine  :  we  were  not  born 
I  a  rvlariani,  a  Signorelli  thou, 
To  play,  with  love  and  hate  at  odds  with  life, 
Sisters. 

BEATRICE. 

I  know  not  in  what  coign  of  the  heart 
The  root  of  hate  strikes  helhvard,  nor  what  rains 
Make  fat  so  foul  a  spiritual  soil  with  life, 
Nor  what  plague-scattering  planets  feed  with  fire 
Such  earth  as  brings  forth  poison.     What  is  hate 
That  thou  and  I  should  know  it  ? 

FRAN'CESCA. 

I  cannot  tell. 
Flowers  are  there  deadlier  than  all  blights  of  the  air 
Or  hell's  own  reek  to  heavenward  :  springs,  whose 
water 


SCEXE  II.  THE  SISTERS.  103 

Puts  out  the  pure  and  very  fire  of  life 
As  clouds  may  quench  the  sunset  :  sins  and  sorrows 
Hate  winged  as  love,  and  love  walled  round  as  hate  is, 
With  fear  and  weaponed  wrath  and  arm-girt  anguish, 
There  have  been  and  there  may  be.     Wouldst  thou 

dream  now 
This  flower  were  mortal  poison,  or  this  flasket 
Filled  full  with  juice  of  colder-blooded  flowers 
And  herbs  the  faint  moon  feeds  with  dew,  that  warily 
I  bear  about  me  against  the  noonday's  needs, 
When  the  sun  ravins  and  the  waters  reek 
With  lustrous  fume  and  feverous  light  like  fire, 
Preservative  against  it  ? 

BEATRICE. 

Sure,  the  flower 
Could  hurt  no  babe  as  bright  and  soft  as  it 
More  than  it  hurts  us  now  to  smell  to  :  nor 
Could  any  draught  that  heals  or  harms  be  found 
Preservative  against  it. 

FRANCESCA. 

Yet  perchance 
Preservative  this  draught  of  mine  might  prove 
A<^ainst  the  bitterness  of  life  —  of  noon, 


104  THE   SISTERS,  act  iv. 

I  would  say  —  heat,  and  heavy  thirst,  and  faintness 
That  binds  with  lead  the  lids  of  the  eyes,  and  hangs 
About  the  heart  like  hunger. 

BEATRICE. 

I  am  athirst ; 
Thy  very  words  have  made  me  :  and  the  noon 
Indeed  is  hot.     Let  me  drink  of  it. 

FRANCESCA. 

Drink. 

BEATRICE. 

The  wells  are  not  so  heavenly  cold.     What  comfort 
Thou  hast  given  me  !     I  shall  never  thirst  again, 
I  think. 

FRANCESCA. 

I  am  sure  thou  shalt  not  —  till  thou  wake 
Out  of  the  next  kind  sleep*  that  shall  fall  on  thee 
And  hold  thee  fast  as  love,  an  hour  or  twain  hence. 

BEATRICE. 

I  thank  thee  for  thy  gentle  words  and  promises 
More  than  for  this  thy  draught  of  healing.     Sleep 
Is  half  the  seed  of  life  —  the  seed  and  stay  of  it  — 
And  love  is  all  the  rest. 


SCENE  II.  THE  SISTERS.  105 

FRANCESCA. 

Thou  art  sure  of  that  ? 
Be  sure,  then. 

BEATRICE. 

How  should  I  be  less  than  sure  of  it  ? 
Alvise's  love  and  thine  confirm  and  comfort 
Mine  own  with  like  assurance.     All  the  wind's  wrath 
That  darkens  now  the  whitening  sea  to  southward 
Shall  never  blow  the  flame  that  feeds  the  sun  out 
Nor  bind   the  stars  from  rising :  how  should  grief, 

then, 
Evil,  or  en\y,  change  or  chance  of  ruin, 
Lay  hand  on  love  to  mar  him  ?     Death,  whose  tread 
Is  white  as  winter's  ever  on  the  sea 
Whose  waters  build  his  charnel,  hath  no  kingdom 
Beyond  the  apparent  verge  and  bourn  of  life 
Whereon  to  reign  or  threaten.     Love,  not  he, 
Is  lord  of  chance  and  change  :  the  moons  and  suns 
That  measure  time  and  lighten  serve  him  not, 
Nor  know  they  if  a  shadow  at  all  there  be 
That  fear  and  fools  call  death,  not  seeing  each  year 
How  thick  men's  dusty  days  and  crumbling  hours 
Fall  but  to  rise  like  stars  and  bloom  like  flowers. 

\Exeunt. 


lo6  THE  SISTERS.  act  iv 


Scene  III.  —  Jhe  same. 
Ejiter  Alvise  and  Beatrice. 

ALVISE. 

Thou  art  not  well  at  ease  :  come  in  again 
And  rest :  the  day  grows  dark  as  nightfall,  ere 
Night  fall  indeed  upon  it. 

BEATRICE. 

No,  not  yet. 
I  do  not  fear  the  thunder,  nor  the  sea 
That  mocks  and  mates  the  thunder.     What  I  fear 
I  know  not :  but  I  will  not  go  from  hence 
Till  that  sea-thwarted  ship's  crew  thwart  the  sea 
Or  perish  for  its  pasture.     See.  she  veers. 
And  sets  again  straight  hither.     All  good  saints, 
Whose  eyes  unseen  of  ours  that  here  lack  light 
Hallow  the  darkness,  guard  and  guide  her  I     Lo, 
She  reels  again,  and  plunges  shoreward  :  God, 
Whose  hand  with  curfe  immeasurable  as  they 
Bridles  and  binds  the  waters,  bid  the  wind 
Fall  down  before  thee  silent  ere  it  slay, 


SCENE  III.  THE   SISTERS.  I07 

And  death,  whose  clarion  rends  the  heart  of  the  air, 
Be  dumb  as  now  thy  mercy  !     O,  that  cry 
Had  more  than  tempest  in  it  :  life  borne  down 
And  hope  struck  dead  with  horror  there  put  forth 
Toward  heaven  that  heard  not  for  the  clamoring  sea 
Their  last  of  lamentation. 

ALVISE. 

Some  there  are  — 
Nay,  one  there  is  comes  shoreward.     If  mine  eyes 
Lie  not,  being  baffled  of  the  wind  and  sea, 
The  face  that  flashed  upon  us  out  of  hell 
Between  the  refluent  and  the  swallowing  wave 
Was  none  if  not  Galassi's.     Nay,  go  in : 
Look  not  upon  us. 

BEATRICE. 

Wherefore  ? 

ALVISE. 

Must  I  not 
Save  him  to  slay  to-morrow  ?     If  I  let 
The  sea's  or  God's  hand  slay  mine  enemy  first, 
That  hand  strikes  dead  mine  honor.  {^Exit. 


I08  THE  SISTERS.  act  iv. 

BEATRICE. 

Save  him,  Christ ! 
God,  save  him  !     Death  is  at  my  heart :  I  feel 
His  breath  make  darkness  round  me. 

Enter  Francesca. 

FRAXCESCA. 

Dost  thou  live  ? 
Dost  thou  live  yet  ? 

BEATRICE. 

I  know  not.     What  art  thou, 
To  question  me  of  life  and  death  t 


FRANCESCA. 


I  am  not 


The  thing  I  was. 


BEATRICE. 

The  friend  I  loved  and  knew  thee 
Thou  art  not.     This  fierce  night  that  leaps  up  east- 
ward, 
Laughing  with, hate  and  hunger,  loud  and  blind. 
Is  not  less  like  the  sunrise.     What  strange  poison 
Has  changed  thy  blood,  that  face  and  voice  and  spirit 
(If  spirit  or  sense  bid  voice  or  face  interpret) 
Should  change  to  this  that  meets  me.? 


SCENE  III.  THE   SISTERS.  1 09 

FRANCESCA. 

Did  I  drink 
The  poison  that  I  gave  thee  ?      Thou  art  dead  now : 
Not  the  oldest  of  the  world's  forgotten  dead 
Hath  less  to  do  than  thou  with  life.     Thou  shalt  not 
Set  eyes  again  on  one  that  loved  thee  :  here 
No  face  but  death's  and  mine,  who  hate  thee  deadlier 
Than  life  hates  death,  shalt  thou  set  eyes  on.     Die, 
And  dream  that  God  may  save  thee  :  from  my  hands 
Alive  thou  seest  he  could  not. 

Re-enter  Alvise  ivith  Galasso. 

ALVISE. 

Stand,  I  say. 
Stand  up.     Thou  hast  no  hurt  upon  thee.     Stand, 
And  gather  breath  to  praise  God's  grace  with. 

GALASSO. 

Thee 
First  must  I  thank,  who  hast  plucked  me  hardly  back 
Forth  of  the  ravening  lips  of  death.  What  art  thou  ? 
This  light  is  made  of  darkness. 


I  lO  THE  SISTERS.  act  iv. 

ALVISE. 

Yet  the  darkness 
May  serve  to  see  thine  enemy  by  :  to-morrow 
The  sun  shall  serve  us  better  when  we  meet 
And  sword  to  sword  gives  thanks  for  swordstrokes. 

GALASSO. 

No: 
Th.e  sun  shall  never  see  mine  enemy  more 
Now  that  his  hand  has  humbled  me. 


ALVISE. 


Forego  not 


Thv  natural  risfht  of  manhood.     Chance  it  was, 
Xot  I,  that  chose  thee  for  my  hand  to  save 
As  haply  thine  had  saved  me,  had  the  wind 
Flung  me  as  thee  to  deathward. 

GALASSO. 

Dost  thou  think 
To  live,  and  say  it,  and  smile  at  me  .'     Thy  saint 
Had  heavenlier  work  to  do  than  guard  thee,  when 
God  gave  thine  evil  star  such  power  as  gave  thee 
Power  on  thine  enemy's  life  to  save  it.     Twice 
Thou  shalt  not  save  or  spare  me  :  if  to-morrow 


SCENE  III.  THE   SISTERS,  m 

Thy  sword  had  borne  down  mine,  thou  hadst  let  me 

live 
And  shamed  me  out  of  living  :  now,  I  am  sure, 
Thou  shalt  not  twice  rebuke  me.  [^Stabs  him. 

BEATRICE. 

Death  is  good  : 
He  gives  me  back  Alvise. 

ALVISE. 

Was  it  thou 
Or  God,  Beatrice,  speaking  out  of  heaven 
Who  turned  my  death  to  life  ? 

BEATRICE. 

I  am  dying,  Alvise  : 
I  thought  to  have  left  —  perchance  to  have  lost  thee  : 

now 
We  shall  not  part  for  ever.  \_Dies.     Alvise  dies. 


FRANCESCA. 

Wilt  thou  stand 
Star-struck  to  death,  Galasso  ?     Let  our  dead 
Lie  dead,  while  we  fly  fleet  as  birds  or  winds 
Forth  of  the  shadow  of  death,  and  laugh,  and  live 
As  happy  as  these  were  hapless. 


112  THE  SISTERS.  act  iv. 

GALASSO. 

She  —  is  she 
Dead  ?     Hath  she  kissed  the  death  upon  his  Hps 
And  fed  it  full  from  hers  ? 

FRANCESCA. 

Why,  dost  thou  dream 
I  did  not  kill  her  ? 

GALASSO. 

Not  a  devil  in  hell 

But  one  cast  forth  on  earth  could  do  it :  and  she 
Shall  shame  the  light  of  heaven  no  longer. 

\_Stabs  her. 

FRANCESCA. 

Fool, 
Thou  hast  set  me  free  from  fate  and  fear :  I  knew 
Thou  wouldst  not  love  me.  [Dies. 

GALASSO. 

What  am  I,  to  live 
And  see  this  death  about  me .?     Death  and  life 
Cast  out  so  vile  a  thing  from  sight  of  heaven. 
Save  where  the  darkness  of  the  grave  is  deep, 
I  cannot  think  to  wake  on  earth  or  sleep. 


SCENE    I. 


THE  SISTERS.  113 


ACT  V. 

Scene  I.  —  An  a7ite-chai7iber  to  the  drawing-room. 
Enter  Anne. 

ANNE. 

To  bear  my  death  about  me  till  I  die 
And  always  put  the  time  off,  tremblingly, 
As  if  I  loved  to  live  thus,  would  be  worse 
Than  death  and  meaner  than  the  sin  to  die. 
The  sin  to  kill  myself  —  or  think  of  it  — 
I  have  sinned  that  sin  already.     Not  a  day 
That  brings  the  day  I  cannot  live  to  see 
Nearer,  but  burns  my  heart  like  flame  and  makes 
:My  thoughts  within  me  serpents  fanged  with  fire. 
He  would  not  weep  if  I  were  dead,  and  she 
Would.     If  I  make  no  better  haste  to  die, 
I  shall  go  mad  and  tell  him  —  pray  to  him, 
If  not  for  love,  for  mercy  on  me  —  cry 
"  Look  at  me  once  —  not  as  you  look  at  her, 


1 14  THE  SISTERS.  act  v. 

But  not  as  every  day  you  look  at  me  — 
And  see  who  loves  you,  Reginald."     Ah  God, 
That  one  should  yearn  at  heart  to  do  or  say 
What  if  it  ever  could  be  said  or  done 
Would  strike  one  dead  with  shame  ! 

MABEL  {singing  in  the  7iext  7'ooni) . 

There's  nae  lark  loves  the  lift,  my  dear, 

There's  nae  ship  loves  the  sea, 
There's  nae  bee  loves  the  heather-bells, 

That  loves  as  I  love  thee,  my  love. 

That  loves  as  I  love  thee. 

The  whin  shines  fair  upon  the  fell. 

The  blithe  broom  on  the  lea : 
The  muirside  wind  is  merry  at  heart : 

It's  a'  for  love  of  thee,  my  love. 

It's  a'  for  love  of  thee. 

ANNE. 

For  love  of  death, 
For  love  of  death  it  is  that  all  things  live 
And  all  joys  bring  forth  sorrows.     Sorrow  and  death 
Have  need  of  life  and  love  to  prey  upon 
Lest  they  too  die  as  these  do.     What  am  I 
That  I  should  live  .?     A  thousand  times  it  seems 


SCENE  I.  THE  SISTERS.  II5 

I  have  drawn  this  flasket  out  to  look  on  it 

And  dream  of  dying,  since  first  I  seized  it  —  stole, 

And  Arthur  never  missed  it.     Yet  a^ain 

o 

The  thought  strikes  back  and  stabs  me,  what  are  they. 
What  are  they  all,  that  they  should  live,  and  I 
Die  ?     Arthur  told  me,  surely,  that  this  death 
Was  pangless  —  swift  and  soft  as  when  betimes 
We  sink  away  to  sleep.     If  sin  it  is, 
I  will  die  praying  for  pardon  :  God  must  see 
I  am  no  more  fit  to  live  than  is  a  bird 
Wounded  to  death. 

Enter  Sir  Francis,  Sir  Arthur,  and  Frank. 

SIR    FRANCIS. 

W^ell,  Anne,  and  could  you  rest 
Well  after  murdering  Mabel  ?     Here  is  Frank 
Declares  his  crimes  would  hardly  let  him  sleep  : 
While  he  who  made  you  criminals  appears 
Shamelessly  happy. 

FRANK. 

Redgie  always  was 
Hardened :  the  plays  he  used  to  improvise 
At  school  were  deep  in  bloodshed. 


Il6  THE   SISTERS. 


ACT   V. 


SIR    ARTHUR. 

Let  US  trust 
That  happiness  and  age  may  make  his  Muse 
Milder. 

ANNE. 

I    am  sure  I  hope  so.     It  was  hard 
To  find  yourself  so  wicked. 

SIR    FRANCIS. 

Hard  on  you, 
Certainly.     Were  you  tired  ? 

ANNE. 

Why  ?     Do  I  look 
Tired  ? 

SIR    FRANCIS. 

Well,  not  tired  exactly ;  still,  your  eyes 
Look  hot  and  dull. 

ANNE. 

All  eves  cannot  be  brisfht 
Always,  like  Reginald's  and  Mabel's. 


SCENE  I.  THE  SISTERS.  II7 

SIR    ARTHUR. 

Ah, 

It  does  one  good  to  see  them.     Since  the  world 

Began,  or  love  began  it,  never  was 

A  brighter  pair  of  lovers.     What  a  life 

Will  theirs  be,  if  the  morning  of  it  mean 

Really  the  thing  it  seems  to  say,  and  noon 

Keep  half  the  promise  of  it ! 

FRANK. 

That  it  should, 
If  they  get  only  their  deserts  :  they  are, 
He  the  best  fellow,  she  the  best  girl  born. 

SIR    FRANCIS. 

You're  not  a  bad  friend,  Frank,  I  will  say. 

ANNE. 


No 


He  is  not. 

SIR    FRANCIS. 

What  your  father  would  have  said 
To  my  approval  of  the  match,  perhaps 
It's  best  not  guessing  :  but  the  harshest  brute 
That  ever  made  his  broken-hearted  ward 
The  subject  or  the  heroine  of  a  tale 
Must,  I  think,  have  relented  here. 


Il8  THE  SISTERS.  act  v 

SIR   ARTHUR. 

But  still 
We  are  none  the  less  your  debtors  —  Redgie  and  I. 
It  lays  on  me  an  obligation  too, 
Your  generous  goodness  to  him. 

SIR    FRANCIS. 

No,  none  at  all. 
I  would  not  let  the  youngster  tell  me  so. 

Enter  Reginald  and  Mabel. 

So,  you  can  look  us  in  the  face,  my  boy, 
And  not  be,  as  you  should,  ashamed  to  see 
How  much  less  happy  are  other  folk  than  you  ? 
Your  face  is  like  the  morning. 


REGINALD. 


You'd  see  I  was  ashamed  then. 


Does  it  blush  ? 


MABEL. 

What,  of  me, 
Redgie  ?     It's  rather  soon  to  say  so.     Still, 
It's  not  too  late  —  happily. 


SCENE   I. 


THE  SISTERS.  1 19 


SIR    FRANCIS. 

Nothing  can 
Happen  that  does  not  fall  out  happily, 
It  seems,  for  you  —  and  nothing  should,  I  think, 
Ever.     Come  with  me,  Frank  :  I  want  you. 

FRANK. 

Why  ? 

SIR    FRANCIS. 

I  never  thought  you  quite  so  dull  till  now. 

Come.  [Exeunt  Sir  Francis  and  Frank. 

SIR    ARTHUR. 

Take  me  with  you  :  I'm  superfluous  too. 

[Exit. 

MABEL. 

Don't  you  go,  Anne. 

ANNE. 

I  will  not  if  you  wish. 

MABEL. 

I  do,  and  so  does  Redgie.     We  have  seen 
These  last  few  days  as  little  of  you,  you  know, 
As  if  you  had  been  —  well,  anywhere. 


I20  THE  SISTERS. 


ACT   V, 


ANNE. 

Except, 
Remember,  at  rehearsals  ;  and  last  night 
We  came  against  each  other  on  the  stage. 

MABEL. 

Indeed  we  did.     Is  that  a  property 
You  have  kept  about  you  ? 

ANNE. 

What.?   where?  this  —  ah  no, 
A —  something  for  a  touch  of  cold  I  caught 
Last  night  —  I  think  at  least  it  was  last  \\vA\l. 
Arthur  prescribed  it  for  me. 

MABEL. 

Let  me  taste. 
I  am  hoarse  —  I  am  sure  I  must  be  hoarse  to-day 
With  rattling  out  all  Redgie's  rant  —  much  more 
Than  you  did. 

ANNE. 

No  :  you  do  not  want  it. 

MABEL. 

Anne  ! 


SCENE  I.  THE  SISTERS.  121 

ANNE. 

You  cannot  want  it,  Mabel. 

MABEL. 

How  can  you 

Know  t     Don't  be  positive  —  and  selfish. 

ANNE. 

There  — 
Take  it.     No — do  not  taste  it,  Mabel. 

MABEL. 

Look, 
Redgie,  how  strange  a  pretty  color  !     Why, 
One  wants  a  name  to  praise  it  —  and  it  smells 
Like  miles  on  miles  of  almond-blossom,  all 
Condensed  in  one  full  flower.     If  this  had  been 
The  poison  Anne  and  you  prepared  for  me, 
I  really  would  have  taken  it  last  night 
And  not  pretended,  as  I  did,  to  sip. 
And  kept  my  lips  dry.  [Drinks, 

REGINALD. 

Does  the  flavor  match 
The  color  ? 


122  THE   SISTERS. 


MABEL. 


ACT  V. 


It's  a  sweet  strange  taste.     Don't  you 
Try  :  you  won't  like  it. 

REGINALD. 

Let  me  know,  at  least. 

[Drinks, 

'  ANNE. 

You  do  not  yet  :  or  do  you  now  know  ? 


MABEL. 

Anne ! 
What  have  we  done  —  and  vou  t     What  is  it  ? 


ANNE. 

Death, 
Mabel.     You  see,  you  would  not  let  me  die 
And  leave  you  living. 

MABEL. 

Death  ?     She  is  mad  —  she  is  mad  ! 
Reginald,  help  us  —  her  and  me  —  but  her 

First. 

REGINALD. 

I  can  hardly  help  myself  to  stand. 
Sit  you  down  by  me. 


SCENE  I. 


THE  SISTERS.  1 23 


ANNE. 

Can  the  sun  still  shine  ? 
I  did  not  mean  to  murder  you. 

MABEL. 

And  yet 
We  are  dying,  are  we  not  —  dying  ? 

ANNE. 

I  meant 
To  die,  and  never  sin  again  or  see 
How  happy  past  all  dreams  of  happiness 
You,  whom  he  loved,  and  he,  who  loved  you,  were. 

Re-enter  Sir  Francis,  Sir  Arthur,  and  Frank. 

SIR    FRANCIS. 

We  are  here  again,  you  see,  already.     Why, 
What  strange  new  tragic  play  is  this  you  are  all 
Rehearsing  ? 

ANNE. 

Mabel,  if  you  can  forgive, 
Say  so.     I  may  remember  that  in  hell. 

MABEL. 

I  do.     And  so  does  Redgie.     But  you  might 
Have  spared  or  saved  him. 


124  THE   SISTERS.  act  v. 

ANNE. 

How,  and  let  you  die  ? 

REGINALD. 

Ah,  how  ?     She  did  not  mean  it. 

ANNE. 

And  do  you 
Forgive  me  ? 

REGINALD. 


Surely.     I  am  one  with  her, 


And  she  forgives. 


Has  killed  them. 


SIR    ARTHUR. 

They  are  dying  indeed.     And  she 

REGINALD. 

No.     She  did  not  mean. 


MABEL. 

Indeed, 
She  did  not. 

SIR    FRANCIS. 

God  in  heaven  !     What  dream  is  this  ? 


SCENE  I.  THE  SISTERS.    '  125 


ANNE. 


God  help  me  !     But  God  will  not.     I  must  die 
Alone,  if  they  forgive  me.     I  must  die.  {Exit. 

REGINALD. 

It  was  a  terrible  accident,  you  see  — 
Was  it  not,  Mabel  ?     That  is  all  we  know. 

MABEL. 

All. 

FRANK. 

Redgie,  will  you  speak  to  me  ? 

REGINALD. 

Good  night, 
Frank  —  dear   old    Frank  —  my  brother    and    hers. 

And  you, 
Good  night,  dear  Arthur.     Think  we  are  going  to  see 
Our  mother,  Mabel  —  Frank's  and  ours. 

MABEL. 

I  will. 
But,  Reginald,  how  hard  it  is  to  go  ! 


126  THE  SISTERS.  act  v. 

REGINALD. 

We  have  been  so  happy,  darling,  let  us  die 
Thinking  of  that,  and  thanking  God. 

MABEL. 

I  will. 
Kiss  me.     Ah,  Redgie  !  \pies. 

REGINALD. 

Mabel !     I  am  here.         \^Dics. 

SIR    ARTHUR. 

They  could  have  lived  no  happier  than  they  die. 


THE    END. 


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